


Coffee Orders and Sleep Disorders

by AHM1121, MissyRivers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholic Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Asgard - the bar, Asthmatic Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow is an asshole, Bruce Is a Good Bro, Bruce's Anger Issues, Canon Compliant Past Character Death - Sarah Rogers, Car Accident, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Depression, Eventual Smut, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Hard-of-Hearing Clint, Hard-of-hearing Steve, Howling Commandoes - the band, Idiots in Love, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Marijuana, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of self-harm, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Steve, Panic Attacks, Peggy is a boss, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Recreational Drug Use, Red Room - the yoga/dance studio, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Self-Esteem Issues, Serious Injuries, Shield - the coffee shop, Sign Language, Slow Burn, Starts fluffy and cute, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, author means no disrespect to scientists, did I just compare Peirce to Voldemort? yes - yes I did, homophobic slur, liquid courage, pov bucky, shifting pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHM1121/pseuds/AHM1121, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissyRivers/pseuds/MissyRivers
Summary: Steve has been pining after Bucky for weeks, ever since he started coming in regularly to the coffee shop he works at.Bucky has been pining over Steve for months, starting when he saw Steve stand up for his beliefs in class.They both are too chicken to say anything.All their friends are saints for putting up with their shit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello darlings! I've never written a multiple-chapter fic, but with the support of AHM1121 (who is being listed as a coauthor because this would NOT be happening without her invaluable input and nudgings to write) y'all are getting this - a coffee shop/college student AU. Yes, another one. Because we write what we know, and characters we can recognize and relate to, and a lot of us can relate to students and young adults struggling to figure out this thing called life.
> 
> This fic will deal with mental health issues pervasively and throughout, so if that's gonna be rough on you, take care! Tags should've reflected this, but any chapter that'll be more explicit will say so in the beginning notes, and the notes will be updated as the fic grows. Trying to avoid spoilers while also giving a heads-up for anything potentially triggering.
> 
> Smut is eventual, this is a slow burn after all - expect plenty of pining and mutual idiocy beforehand :) tags'll be updated when applicable for that - the rating is starting at E for a reason, kids!
> 
> First chapter is a little longer than the next few - I want to get most of the main players introduced and get some world-building going so y'all get a feeling for what you're in for.

“Steve, man, you know you're gonna look stupid as hell with a neck brace, you keep swinging your head around looking for him."

"Sam, shut up!" Steve hissed at his best friend, whipping his head back around to glare at him. A twinge in his neck makes him wince, only driving home Sam’s point. 

“Oh calm down man, it’s not like y’all set the date for your wedding...unless the date of the wedding is a ‘large mocha with extra whip.’” Sam looks sympathetic, even thru his teasing. “Maybe today go with the simple task of asking him on a date along with if he wants a raspberry scone?” He gestures towards the well-stocked shelves of baked goods in front of them. “Freshly baked by yours truly, guaranteed to land you a date!”

“Come on Sam, you know that isn’t gonna happen. He’s...he’s Bucky Barnes!” Steve leaned on the counter, his forearms sticking to a few crumbs. He grimaces at the mess and grabs a rag to sweep the bits onto the floor behind the counter - he’ll be sure to mop it up later.

“And you’re Steve Rogers. Look, I was paying attention too and learned both your names - do I get a sticker?”

“Ass. I’m not asking Bucky freakin’ Barnes out on a date. He...probably doesn’t even know my name, and that’d be awkward on so many levels.”

“You do have a name tag on, give the man some credit.” Sam’s brown eyes sparkle with humor. “He’s brilliant, and I know you know it, since you’re moaning about his wit and brains and blah blah blah every two seconds. Just give it a shot!”

Steve pushes an unruly lock of hair out of his eyes and turns to check the water levels in the coffee machine. “That’s exactly my point!” Pulling out the tank he continues, ”he’s brilliant, and funny, and handsome...and I’m not! What would I be bringing to the table?” He shrugs. 

“Besides his order every day?”

“I’ve said it once, I’ll say it a million times - you’re an ass, Sam.”

“I may be, but my ass is happily cruising with three different dates in the next two weeks, while yours is sitting in a corner making moon-eyes at that guy.” Sam points out the door, tracking movement with his finger, and Steve grabs at his arm to yank it to his side.

“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to point!?”

“Ya, right after she taught me the subtle art of matchmaking - lesson one - say hi!”

With a retort on his tongue, Steve turns and almost chokes. The focus of their argument has managed to get inside and nearly all the way to the counter while he was sniping with Sam.

“You getting retrained, Steve?” Bucky’s amused voice pulls Steve out of his shock.

“No, n-no. Hi, what can I get you? The usual?” Well shit, Sam was right, he does know his name.

“Ya, a large mocha with extra whip, but add a shot of espresso, please? Had a test that kept me up studying.” Bucky rubs a hand over his face and fights to hold back a yawn. “Have another tomorrow, so I won’t be sleeping much. Gotta get some serious caffeine to power thru the next few days.” His shirt is a little wrinkled, but nothing that screams ‘I slept in my clothes’, so perhaps he just didn’t sleep at all last night, and that’s his shirt from yesterday? Whatever it is, it’s nice - the cut showing Bucky’s lean frame while stretching across his broad shoulders, the dark burgandy a beautiful way to highlight the red in his hair and the blue of his eyes. Steve had to give himself a mental slap to pull his mind back to the conversation before he got caught up ogling Bucky’s chest.

“Sure thing. Want a raspberry scone too? Fresh baked this morning.” Steve grins at Bucky, studiously ignoring the snicker he hears from Sam, who moves away a few paces - absentmindedly wiping the same spot on the counter while he listens in shamelessly. 

“Sure, why not. You know, you’re totally enabling my sweet-tooth.” The smirk that’s featured on many a page of Steve’s sketchbook, and drops Steve’s IQ by a good ten points, flashes out and Steve has to consciously focus to keep his knees from wobbling.

“Oh, um...these don’t have any added sugar, so...they aren’t that bad?” Bucky huffs at the questioning lilt on the end of Steve’s statement, making Steve wince internally. My kingdom for a hint of smooth! he mourns.

"Good to know I have someone lookin' out for my indulgences." Bucky’s eyebrow raises, and Steve feels a little confused. It’s just a scone, and he knows Bucky doesn’t get one every time he comes in, so his sweet-tooth can’t have too great a hold on him.

“If the only indulgence you have to worry about is a little natural sugar now and again, you’re doing better than half the country. You’d be shocked the amount of crap people put in their bodies.” Sam, seemingly having a sixth-sense for one of Steve’s health-conscious rants, subtly cuts him off by edging over to grab a piece of spaghetti - their eco-friendly alternative to coffee-stirrers. Steve catches himself, silently mortified that he almost subjected an undeserving Bucky to his tirade. Mood lost and confidence shattered, he falls back on his bland customer service kick and asks Bucky if he’ll be needing anything else, knowing full well he won’t, internally cursing his inability to carry on a simple conversation without getting self-righteous over something. 

When Bucky walks away with a last smile, Steve has to fight to contain a sigh. Damn. So much for today’s opportunity to make nice with Bucky. Maybe tomorrow...he stares forlornly after him as he walks out, showing just how sweet of a person he is when he holds the door open for a few people. Before Steve can tear his eyes away to get back to work Bucky unexpectedly turns and they lock eyes across the cafe. What could’ve been a mortifying moment, getting caught staring, is saved when Bucky just smiles and waves, the door softly closing behind him. Steve feels a heat rise in his chest and finds himself grinning to welcome the next guest.

“You got it bad, man. Maybe next time, ya?” Sam pats his shoulder consolingly.

“Not a chance. Did you see him with the door? He’s just naturally unthinkingly kind.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there. Last thing I need is for you to get stars in your eyes while you wax poetic about the dude when he only just left. Give me like, half an hour, minimum, before you go off about him, alright?” Sam rolled his eyes and walked off to clean tables, which is actually just a thinly veiled cover for chatting with Bruce, a friend of theirs who teaches yoga next door, who’s sitting in his regular spot sipping a tea blend Peggy makes, leaving Steve to daydream to his heart’s content.

\-----------

Bucky groans. The thud of his feet on the ground pounds in his head with every step, and he can feel the craving for sleep scratching at his eyelids. Caffeine - coffee will fix everything. And seeing that cute coffee-boy will certainly make things sweeter...thankfully Shield Coffee is on the way to his dorm, so the detour won’t cost him.  
Brushing his hand across his hair, he opens the door to the cozy cafe and steps inside, his eyes brushing past the decor and landing on the adorable little blonde behind the counter. His cheeks had a slight flush, which only grew when Bucky got closer and he met his eyes.

“...say hi!” Bucky heard Sam, the other man working, say to Steve. With how flustered he looked, poor Steve must be having a harder time getting himself together today than normal. Bucky’s noticed that Steve always stammers a little when they start talking, so he’s pretty sure Steve’s on the shy side. A few smiles, a little chatting, and Steve seems to shake it off a bit, so Bucky decidedly gives a small smirk and teases him.

“You getting retrained, Steve?” And that blush just flares up right along his high cheekbones, highlighting the amazing blue of his eyes...eyes Bucky has to consciously work not to fall into. Moving his gaze around his face doesn’t help any - the man has a jawline that could cut glass, eyelashes any girl would give her left arm for, and a smile that could power New York thru a half-dozen winters, once Steve lets it loose.

“No, n-no. Hi, what can I get you? The usual?” And the fact that Steve knows his order off the top of his head like that makes Bucky’s heart give a painful shiver.

“Ya, a large mocha with extra whip, but add a shot of espresso, please? Had a test that kept me up studying.” Sighing internally, thinking about the equations that are persistently swimming across his mind, he tries to suppress a yawn. “Have another tomorrow, so I won’t be sleeping much. Gotta get some serious caffeine to power thru the next few days.” Phillips will be the death of him - why the hell does he have to assign a 3-page essay on the military strategies of the second world war to be due the week before midterms? The man is one mean sumbitch, and shirking the critical-thinking on this paper will cost him serious points, so Bucky really needs to get his brain in gear. Hence - coffee.

“Sure thing. Want a raspberry scone too? Fresh baked this morning.” Steve’s winning smile makes an appearance, and suddenly that need for caffeine stops feeling so desperate. 

“Sure, why not. You know, you’re totally enabling my sweet-tooth.” Bucky teases, and Steve’s smile wobbles. Damn, that wasn’t supposed to happen...Bucky purposefully lowers his shoulders and gentles his smile, hoping the joke didn’t cross some sort of line in Steve’s mind. Granted, they haven’t really done a lot of chatting when Bucky’s come in before, but surely Steve’s had other people kid around with him?

“Oh, um...these don’t have any added sugar, so...they aren’t that bad?” Oh. Oh, the sweet summer child. He’s taking this way too seriously. Guess he isn’t loose enough to handle a bit of banter just yet. Well, Bucky isn’t one to go halfway with anything, so he might as well keep needling at him, see if he can’t provoke some sort of response.  
"Good to know I have someone lookin' out for my indulgences." Steve’s chin raises a little, and Bucky crows victoriously at the sign of attitude.

“If the only indulgence you have to worry about is a little natural sugar now and again, you’re doing better than half the country. You’d be shocked the amount of crap people put in their bodies.” Steve seems like he has a lot more to say on the topic, but his coworker brushes past him to grab a piece of raw spaghetti to stir the coffee he’s making, and it shakes Steve out of his rant. With a timid smile, he falls back into his rote customer service routine and asks if Bucky’d like anything else today.

“Nah, that’ll do me. Thanks Steve.” With one last grin for the road, Bucky walks over to the register where Sam is hovering and fishes his wallet out to pay, dropping a guitar pick that he shoves, annoyed, back into his pocket. 

“Here you go man, coffee and scone. Have a good one.” Sam’s smile is genuine, but looks way too amused for the simple statement.

“Thanks man, you too.” Bucky grabs his fuel and heads out, waiting until he’s holding the door for a young mom and her kid coming thru to look back for a last glimpse of Steve, who to his surprise is already looking at him. Bucky gives a little wave over his shoulder while he lets the door swing shut, and continues his walk home with a slight spring in his step.

Clint waves negligently when Bucky comes thru the communal area on their floor. “Hey bro, you get me a coffee too?”

“They were all out of that swill you call ‘coffee’, but I did put the pot on before I crawled out of here this morning. Did you check it?” Bucky smirks when Clint smacks himself in the forehead and bounds up to run over to the rickety table holding their hot-plate, microwave, and shitty coffee maker.

“You are a god among men, Barnes, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Clint moans in a nearly pornographic expression of delight as he pours himself a cup of sludge, slurping it noisily with every indication of enjoyment. Bucky winces at the sound and hurries on towards his room with a wave to acknowledge Clint’s comment.

Seeing that the door was already propped a little open, Bucky made to walk thru it, sticking out an elbow to push it. “OW fuck! Tony, what the hell?!” Bucky rubs his jaw, having slammed it into the door when it hadn’t budged when he tried to open it! “We’ve talked about this! Repeatedly! Keep your shit away from the door! Get over here and let me in, dammit!”

“Hold your horses, Bucky-boo, I’ve got one more solder and...ok! If you’ve dented that piece I’m gonna need you to make me another one.”

“Bullshit I’m gonna do anything! You left whatever-it-is in front of the door and I’m gonna have a bruise to prove it.” Muffled grunts and the sound of a heavy something-or-other being moved have Bucky tapping his foot impatiently.

“Well, it’s a shame ‘I walked into a door’ has such a negative connotation, since it is entirely true in this case.” Tony’s grin shows in the few inches Bucky can see thru, and he growls at the shorter man.

“Not funny, idiot. Hurry up, I’ve got shit to do.” Bucky grunts, leaning his shoulder to the door and starting to shove.

“Ok, ok, jeez, what’s got your panties in a bunch, Buckster?”

“Tired; of you, and tests.”

“Jeez. This wouldn’t have anything to do with your cute little totally-not-a-twink barista, would it?” Tony wiggled his eyebrows in what he probably thought was a lecherous way, but with his manic grin and random smears of oil across his forehead and jaw just looked silly. 

“Tony, when was the last time you slept?” The bags under the shorter man’s eyes were big enough to incur a fee if he boarded a plane.

“No no no don’t go trying to change the subject on me.” Tony wagged a wrench in Bucky’s general direction, half his attention already re-devoted to the circle of glowing metal on his desk. “Sleep is for the weak and uninspired. Of which I am neither. You, however, could use some.” He paused looking at Bucky pointedly. ”Inspiration, that is. You wanting tips on how to woo your man? Wouldn’t think you’d need them, you mattress-hop like an energizer bunny. What’s the hold up with short, blonde, and awkward again?”

“He’s a classy guy, Stark. Getting into his pants first wouldn’t fly.” Bucky shrugs. “No time to wine-and-dine with midterms coming up. I’ll ask him out once things die down.”

Tony snorted. “Ya, that’s what you said last semester. What’s gonna make this one any different? Don’t answer that, I won’t believe whatever bull you try and spread.”

“Thanks Tony, you’re a real pal. What’re you working on?” Bucky considered the conversation closed when Tony launched into a rant over his latest project, munching his snack while nodding along, Tony not needing any encouragement to babble. Wiping the last crumbs from his lips, Bucky strolled over to his own desk - he and Tony had agreed to get a bunk-bed so they could add more desk-space in their room, to facilitate tinkering when the labs closed...or kicked them out for blowing something up. Again. The robotics program he was enrolled in had challenged the students of Bucky’s class to replicate a human hand, with as much life-like dexterity as possible, with the goal being to pick up a dime. Besides forbidding sneaking a few magnets into the fingertips, there were no rules on the design of the hands, and Bucky was enthralled with his model - putting on fingernails of thin metal plating had actually worked, giving his hand a tiny edge to level under the dime, and the design looked so cool he was thinking about machining a bunch more to layer over the top of the hand - it looked almost like dragon-scales.

A rap at the door heralded Bruce sticking his bespectacled face in. “Heads up guys, Clint has to do his monthly drug-sweep tomorrow.”

Tony and Bucky called out their thanks for the warning. While Tony had been known when he was younger to indulge in anything and everything he could get his hands on, an unfortunate incident with dangerously-cut cocaine had nearly stopped his heart, and he swore off anything stronger than alcohol. Still not the best compromise, in Bucky’s eyes, since a drunk Tony was an erratic permanent-decision-making Tony, but hey - at least his friend was alive. Bucky enjoyed a puff or two of pot at a party, but not enough to buy any for home use. Still, they both appreciated that Clint felt the guys he was legally required to keep in check were responsible enough with what they had on hand that he’d let them know when he was gonna do a sweep.

“Hey Brucey-baby, before you trundle off, tell me - is Bucky-boy’s bae as hopelessly infatuated with our idiot as he is with him? You’re always lurking in a corner drinking leaf-water, so spill! Fear no reprisals, I will protect you from murder-eyes over here.” Tony threw a thumb over his shoulder at Bucky, who hunched his shoulders and glowered at his work, resolutely ignoring the interrogation Tony was trying to work on their friend.

“Tony...I really couldn’t say.” Tony’s gasp of ‘liar!’ went unacknowledged when Bruce continued, “I know Steve doesn’t always talk to people beyond what his job makes him? And he always seems to go to the back for a while after Bucky comes in, even if he just got back from his break?”

This had Bucky turning to Bruce with confusion. “What...you been keeping track of his breaks, dude?” 

“No, but Sam has, and he pointed it out. Said Steve keeps an inhaler in his locker that he needed to use if his breathing gets too out-of-whack. Which, apparently, it does when you’re around.” Bruce shrugged. “I’d guess that’s a good sign. Doesn’t spell ‘infatuation’ to me, maybe nerves?”

“Who wouldn’t be nervous with the infamous Bucky Barnes throwing bedroom eyes at them, I’m impressed the guy hasn’t snapped under the pressure and jumped his bones already! We do know he swings this way, right?” Tony snarks. “I recall seeing him swappen’ spit with a stocky brunette against a wall once, but who I am to define anyone based off what could’ve been a drunken oopsy.” 

“Knock it off, Tony.” Bruce cut in gently. “Steve swings whatever way he wants. It doesn’t matter if Bucky doesn’t feel comfortable approaching him.”

“That’s just it! He never hesitates to go after what he wants! So I say again - what the hell, Buchanan?”

Bucky’s pause drew out the quiet. “Oh, I’m sorry, is it my turn to talk?” He dodged a thrown piece of slag absently. “Look, can we just not right now? I don’t need both of you hounding my ass -”

“Who’s hounding who’s ass, and can I join in?” Clint’s mussy head pokes around the doorframe, and Bruce looks down at him in bewildered amusement.

“Why are you laying on my shoe?”

“What, this spot taken?” The blonde grins brightly and turns back to the case at hand. “So, Bucky’s ass is taking a pounding when?”

“Now! Now now now! Don’t let him squirm away from this!” Tony shrieked, sounding like nothing more than a bratty toddler. “He’s been pining like a sailor’s wife for months over that scrappy blonde down at Shield and he won’t make a move! Make him make a move! I’m dying over the sighs and doe-eyed moaning he’s subjecting me to! It’s taking away from valuable time I could be spending ending the world’s energy crisis! Along with getting my name on the tallest building in New York, but who cares about fame?”

“You.” The three gathered men chimed simultaneously, making Tony pout.

“That was creepy. Don’t do that again.” Looking nonplussed, he picked up his phone and flashed his thumbs across its surface rapidly. “Look, there’s gonna be a thing at the bar next to Shield Friday. Some band, I know a guy in it, we should go. Drag this blushing maiden with us, get him some liquid courage and shove him in the right direction. Or get him laid so thoroughly he forgets the dreamy blue eyes of his star-crossed love and moves on to bigger and taller things. You guys in? Of course you’re in, I’m a genius, thank you I know, see you all Friday, now go away, I’m terribly busy.” Another twitch of his thumb had classic rock screaming from the speakers mounted along the ceiling moulding in the room, and with apologetic glances Bruce and Clint withdrew, closing the door behind them. Bucky sighed and resignedly picked up his headphones, ready to que up his own playlist to drown out AC/DC. He had a few days to come up with a reasonable-sounding excuse to ditch the group, so for now, he turned his attention firmly back to his metal arm, shoving any thoughts of green-flecked blue eyes and stubborn bangs out of his mind.

\--------

“I ain’t goin’ Sam, so quit harping me about it.”

“Man,” Sam huffed, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at his friend, “we go through this every single time. How about we skip the part where you sulk, agree you’re gonna go, and have fun!” Steve glared right back, sitting in his comfy threadbare pj bottoms and a stretched-out white t-shirt. “You know once you get there and get a few drinks in you, before you go all righteous-fury on the world, you have a good time. So why do you kick up such a fuss?”

“Jeez, thanks Sam, way to make me sound like a petulant child. I’ve got work to do. Schmidt’s poly-sci class is giving me heart palpitations, and you know I don’t need those on top of my arrhythmia. So just leave me be for tonight, ok?” Steve groaned and fisted a hand in his hair. The essay honestly was giving him trouble, but nothing he shouldn’t be able to conquer within another hour or so. Since the band wasn’t due to start playing for another three though, he was keeping that information to himself. 

“Ya whatever, you act like that, you’re never gonna meet Barnes across anything but a counter.”

Steve’s head snapped up. “What? Bucky’s gonna be there?” Trying to recover from that serious lack of chill would be impossible, so he didn’t even try. Judging by the smirk growing on Sam’s face, he knew it too. “Crap.” Steve threw a pencil at his roommate, who plucked it out of the air calmly. “There goes my concentration for the night. Now I won’t be able to get this done, even if I want to.”

“Perfect! So you have no excuse not to come. Get something presentable on and meet me in the kitchen. You’ve got ten minutes Rogers, don’t make me come in here and catch a glimpse our friendship will never recover from.”

“I happen to know you like your men pasty! Don’t try and lie to me Sam, you’d drool over this ass!” Steve hollered at Sam’s retreating back.

“What ass?!” The door closed before Steve could retort, and he chuckled. Sighing, he looked despondently at his closet. Blue, checkered blue, grey, and, who would’ve guessed it, more blue. He frowned, and started poking his toe at the bundles of fabric on his floor, sure he’d had a green button-up somewhere that’d only been worn once...he found it half-under his bed, and when it passed the sniff-test he shook it out, a judgmental eye seeing too many wrinkles to pass muster. Grumbling, he grabbed up a few things and stomped off to take a nice hot shower. The steam would take care of the wrinkles, and help clear his lungs preemptively for the smoke that lingered in the ceilings of Asgard.

The apartment bathroom was anything but large, but for two bachelors, it was enough. Steve locked the door and started the water up, stripping down while he waited for the water to warm. Bi-monthly cleanings (insisted upon to prevent mold by not just their landlord - and boss, Peggy - but also by common sense) and applications of baking-soda and vinegar to the shower head meant the pressure of the stream was damn decent, and Steve’s tense shoulders appreciated that once he stepped in. He grabbed his apple-scented shampoo and lathered up quickly, using the excess suds to swipe at any areas of his body that could use more than a rinse. His hand lingered between his legs, the soap giving his hand a nice slide. He was already clean, but it’d only been a couple minutes - not long enough to get his shirt smooth, which was the whole point. Really, he’d be wasting all this time and water if he just hopped out now...this little self-rationalising pep-talk made him laugh under his breath - like he needed an excuse to jerk off!

Remembering Sam’s time-limit, Steve wasted no time, starting a quick rhythm, his grip firm with a little twist on the up-stroke. Rubbing his thumb over the sensitive glands, spreading the slippery pre-cum over his head, sent a shiver up his spine. A brief collage of Bucky Barnes popped into his mind...a blue-gray gaze, cocky grin, stubble enhancing a rugged cleft, slender fingers brushing long brown hair out of his eyes...Steve shocked himself with how quickly his orgasm rushed over him, the shower washing away the sticky mess.

Relieved with a slight tinge of Catholic guilt, Steve shook his head and shut the water off. Grabbing his towel, he gave his hair a quick scrub so he could get his glasses on, then peaked at his shirt. Mission success - the pine-green shirt is wrinkle-free and ready to go. Grimacing at his reflection in the mirror after swiping an area free of condensation, Steve ruefully scooped up some gel and tried to get his hair into some semblance of decency, knowing that no matter how much product he gunks his hair up with, it’ll still end up flopping into his eyes within an hour of getting to the bar. Ah well. Can only do so much with the material he’s got. At least the color is ok. His ma always called him ‘Sunshine’ for its golden glow, laughing and mussing it up fondly when he’d huff that that was a ‘little-kid name Ma, quit!’, insisting that he’d ‘always be her little boy, so hold still and let me fix your collar Stevie.’ God, Steve missed her. Four years later, and it still didn’t hurt any less.

A solid hit on the door startled Steve out of his depressing memories. “Yo, come on man, we’ve gotta go!”

“Hold your damn horses Sam, I’m coming!” Shimmying into his jeans and starting to do up the buttons, Steve opened the door and went to his room to get some socks on. Sam followed him, gripping under his breath about being late. “The hell Sam, you’re never this worried about punctuality, what’s got your panties in a knot?”

“My panties? Come off it Rogers, you know I...you know what, forget it. Nope. Not having this conversation again. They’re briefs, and they’re comfy, and we’re going! Grab your wallet and keys and let’s go party!”

“Whatever you say Sam.” Grinning at Sam’s retreating back, Steve hurriedly gathered what he needed and headed out, a little bounce in his step. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad of a night.

\-------

“This was such a bad idea.” Bucky grumbled, sipping his beer. “I could be studying. I could be working on my essay. Instead, I’m here. With you idiots.” He indicated Tony and Clint with a wave of his bottle. “Bruce is the only one of us with two brain cells to rub together. HE stayed home, like a sensible person.”

“Seinsible? Guy is sitting at home alone, probably meditating or something equally snooze-inducing, and you call him sensible? Please Buckarino, don’t make me laugh.” Tony feigned disgust and threw back some of his second gin-and-tonic of the evening. “When is the entertainment starting? And the girls! Where are the girls? Honestly, you’d think this establishment would care about it’s paying customer’s comforts. Barkeep! Another!” He waves imperiously at Thor, the affable owner, who towers over the group from behind the bar with a grin. 

“As you wish, my friend. And something for you to eat, as well - if you continue to drink at this rate without food you will surely be snoring on my floors within an hour.” Thor’s voice rumbes soothingly while he pours out another drink for Tony.

“You doubt my liver? Please! This puppy has been thru the ringer, tried and true. It’ll take more than a few drinks to get me drooling. I’m insulted you’d think so little of me.”

Used to Tony’s harmless blustering, Thor just nods and puts a basket of pretzels in front of the goateed brunette. “But of course, how silly of me. Your sliders will be out soon.”

“Fantastic, love those. Put it on my tab!” Tony knocks back the remnants of his drink and grabs the other, remarkably dextrous for how much he’s imbibed. But he has had practice, Bucky muses, so it does stand to reason.

He sighs and looks around the bar. Asgard Brewery is set up nicely, with a few open tables opposite the bar, a large clear area in front of a slightly raised stage. Well lit and with very little in the way of furniture, the lay-out is comfortable without feeling confining. Smoking is not allowed inside, but the back door beyond the bathrooms down a little hall to one side of the stage is left propped open so anyone can go out for a quick smoke before coming back in. Bucky scans the crowd, which is still small, it being a good half an hour until the band is supposed to start performing. 

“What did you say this group was called?” Bucky queries Tony.

“The Howling Commandos. Cause they like to yell, and another unverified reason.” Tony winks and laughs at his own whimsy. “They’re ok, nothing too special, but fun. Dernier’s a good guy, any friends of his are worth standing a round for. We can chat after they play. I’ll introduce you, don’t worry, my little wallflower.”

Bucky smirks. “Sure, wallflower. Fits me to a T.”

“Well, you certainly aren’t any more fun than this one.” Tony grunts, poking Clint with his elbow. The blonde snorts and picks his head up off the bar, a line of drool snapping from the puddle he left onto his chin.

“Wassit? So’ry.” Clint yawns, “was up all night, some idiot left their keys at a frat party, was too drunk to buzz me, knocked on the door till someone on the first floor got annoyed enough to let him in, but then the dude was too drunk to climb the stairs, so my ass got dragged out of bed to sober him up. Ah well,” he yawns again, vocalizing thru it unintelligibly, “ -ter than the alternative.”

“What’s that, my dear? I don’t understand caveman.” Tony puts a hand to his ear and leans closer obnoxiously. Clint shoves his shoulder in gentle retaliation.  
“Knock it off. Anyone else coming?”

“Not that I’m aware of, and I know everything. We’ll have to wait and see. Ugh, what a concept. Messy. I much prefer scientific wonderings. Like, I know what may happen, but what will happen? Let’s mix these two bad boys and find out!” Tony claps his hands loudly and smiles with glee.

“...and that is why you’re this close to being banned from the chem labs.” Bucky holds his fingers a hair’s-width apart.

“Pfft. They wouldn’t ban me. Only threaten to, maybe kick me out a few times. My family’s donated way too much money for them to actually ban me.” Tony waves Bucky’s concerns away negligently. “Oh my, is that a certain blonde bombshell I see? Or rather, what’s left after the bomb-shell lands? Seriously Bucky, get your boy a sandwich.” Tony frowns at the entrance to the bar, and Bucky whips his head around, then furiously looks into the depths of the basket of pretzels, his ears turning red. Steve is walking in, laughing with the same man Bucky often sees him working with at Shield. He looks adorable, his hair artfully disheveled and catching the light, glinting golden. With a dark-green button-up on, Bucky can see the blue of his eyes behind his dark rimmed glasses from all the way across the room, and it makes him want to walk over to stare at them, see if they have any matching hues to his shirt hidden in their depths. The skinny jeans he’s wearing cling to his thighs, and are sure to make his ass look delicious. Bucky has to physically restrain himself from turning back to see if he can catch a glimpse while Steve walks towards a table with his friend.

“Quiet Stark! Jeez. Who the hell raised you? And he’s not my boy.” He grumbles under his breath begrudgingly, and Tony acts like he didn’t hear it.

“I was raised in a cave in the hills of a desert, obviously. Now come on, introduce me to my future honorary brother-in-law!” Tony claps Bucky on the shoulder. “Gotta make sure this kid passes muster. Only the best for our Bucky-bear!”

“Tony, would you quit? We’ve never spoken socially, ‘snot like I can just walk over and start chatting him up like we’re old pals.” Bucky can feel his shoulders trying to meld with the sides of his head and takes a galvinating swallow of his beer.

“I don’t see why not. You’ve shared air haven’t ya? That should be a fine place to start a conversation. Any bright ideas, purple-people eater?” Tony asks Clint, who frowns and tugs at the neck of his shirt.

“I’m not planning on eating any purple people, as long as they leave me alone. Just go talk to him, Buck. Buy him a drink. Compliment his glasses. Hell if I know.” He shrugs. “Not like I understand what men want. Or women want, so they tell me.” A hangdog look on his face shows his sorrow over this - Clint is known to have a heart of gold and no sense of when to keep his childish opinions to himself, bumbling thru heartbreak one lady at a time.

“Oh look, that must be the band. See the guy, Tony? Dernier, what does he play?” Bucky cuts in a little desperately.

“Drums. Best way to get a bang outta something that isn’t likely to explode. At least, not now. I bet you could rig a pyrotechnic display to go off when hit at a certain frequency or pressure…” A dreamy look passes over Tony’s face, and Bucky sighs, his crisis seeming to have been passed over in lue of a more destructive one.

“Tony. No. You can’t explode his drums. At least not without asking permission first, and you can’t talk to him now - they’re about to start. You’ll have to corner him after the show. Let’s support your pal until then, huh?” Bucky turns and leans his elbows on the bar, narrowly avoiding tipping over the plate of sliders Thor had placed next to the pretzels a few moments before. With a nod of thanks to the blonde, Bucky picks one up and munches on the bbq-slathered miniature burger, his eyes wandering sightlessly on the racks of alcohol stacked in front of a mirror behind the bar. Until, at least, his gaze lands on the reflection of movement, and he tracks a slim wrist as it carries a long-fingered hand to brush hair away from black-rimmed glasses.

Feedback squealing from the stage yanked his attention rudely away, and the stammering of sorry’s coming thru the sound system was buried under the groans and yells of everyone in the bar. “We know, we know, sorry! Anyway, we’re the Howling Commandos, as y’all know, and since I don’t see the point of small talk, let’s play!” A burly guy with an intense mustache hit a power cord after delivering this little speech and the band launched into a cover of Demons by Imagine Dragons - ambitious, but not too terribly done, thankfully. They kept their streak up, doing a few original songs in-between high energy rock and roll, the audience feeling the beat and starting up a rolling dance in the center of the room. Nothing too high-energy, this isn’t a damn club, just a bunch of people hanging out, looking to enjoy a nice night, swaying from side to side, shuffling around good-naturedly.

Bucky nags at Clint until he joins him on the floor, feeling like standing around at the bar with a jabbering Tony while having to live with a jabbering Tony is all too much to bare. He watches as the band throws themselves into the music, smiling as every strum of the bass ricotches through this body and vibrating his soul. Maybe this wasn’t the worst idea Tony’s ever had, he thinks, taking a step back as more people crowd in, wincing when he feels someone’s foot under his heel. Turning to apologize his mouth hangs open, words lost in the air around him as those unmistakable blue eyes stare up at his. 

“Normally I’m the one stepping on toes.” Steve smirks, and Bucky swears it’s like the music drops away, words he shouldn’t be able to hear over the thumping bass ringing clear as bells in his ears. 

“S-sorry. I’m, uhh…well, normally I’m smoother than this.” Bucky scratches at the back of his head sheepishly.

“I know. I see you at Shield, wooing ladies and breaking hearts without missing a beat.” The rumbling laugh he gives at this is so deep Bucky can feel it in the pit of his stomach, tugging him forward. A crazy desire to step closer, get his hands on Steve’s ribs and catch the sensation of that laugh bursts over Bucky, and he shivers. Noticing he’d stopped dancing, he shuffles his feet awkwardly. “You want a drink?” Bucky’s eyes flash to Steve’s, the twinkle in them catching him by surprise. With how little Steve’s spoken to him over the last few months, the last thing Bucky expected was Steve to be the one to make sure a clear first move.

“You tryin’ to woo me Rogers?” What he wanted to come out as sultry banter instead winds it’s way into the world on a breath of disbelief.

“Is it working?” Steve asks brazenly, and a shudder of arousal crawls up Bucky’s spine, the tone of Steve’s voice doing wonders for him.

“Ya. Ya, it is.” He can’t even regret the totally-uncool admission when it prompts a blinding grin on Steve’s face.

“Come on then. What’s your poison?” Steve turns and starts meandering his way thru the few people between them and the bar, settling onto an empty stool and catching Thor’s eye.

“Whiskey sour.”

“Hmm, good choice. Sweet and tart. I’m gonna have another beer please, Thor.” Steve turns seamlessly from Bucky to Thor, ordering and smiling at the tall blonde.

“But of course, Steven! Another of my brews, or would you like one of my brothers concoctions? He has declared his strawberry-beer fit to taste,” Thor wrinkles his nose, “and although I don’t know that I’d agree with him, if you feel daring, that would be my recommendation.”

“Three beers in, and I am in fact, feeling rather daring.” He shoots Bucky a wink. “Lemme try one, how bad can it be?”

“Oh, now you’ve done it.” Bucky laughs, a blush riding up to his ears. “Don’t you know any better? Those words are the kiss of death on any venture.”

“I should hope not, that’s not the kiss I’m hoping to -” Steve cuts off and swivels his head to one side where a girl is edging away from a guy leering at her. “HEY!” Steve’s bellow carries over the music, and a few heads turn to see what the yell is about. “The lady said she wasn’t interested, leave off!”

“What’s it to you?” The guy sneers, giving Steve a disgusted once over. “Why don’t you pay attention to your own business, short round?” He lifts a corner of his lip and turns away, his hand raising towards the cowering girl.

“An asshole like you bullying a girl at a bar should be everyone’s business, creep!” Steve hops off his stool and marches over, his hands balled in fists at his side. The guy, a good head taller than him and broad in all the places Steve is skinny, sighs and turns back to him, looking more annoyed than ever.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear the first time. Buzz off, Tiny Tim.” He turns back the girl, clearly writing Steve off as a credible threat.

Bucky, hot on Steve’s heels, puffs up at the continued insults to Steve, but doesn’t cut in, letting Steve stand up for what he is so clearly passionate about. Hopefully his bulk will lend weight to Steve’s words, and they can drive the guy off without causing more of a scene.

Steve eels his way between the guy and his target, and she takes the opportunity to scuttle off with a muttered ‘thanks!’ before she disappears towards the bathroom.  
Seeing his prey escaping, the guy shoots a hand out to grab her arm, and Steve smacks it, growling. Incensed, the guy gives a howl and swings at him. Easily ducking the blow, Steve dances to the side, but trips, the alcohol in his system catching up with him at just the wrong moment.

“You little faggot! Ruined my damn fun!” The guy yells, his fist catching Steve under his rib cage, punching the air out of him in a gasp, Steve’s glasses falling to the ground and narrowly avoiding getting stomped on, kicked under a stool when Bucky lunges forward to grab the falling man. His temper snapping, Bucky, with his arms full of a wheezing and breathlessly raging Steve, flings his head back and catches the guy in the nose. Blood spurts from it and the man roars in pain, his hands flying up to staunch the flow.

“That’s more than enough out of you.” Thor has, in this time, come out from around the bar and his hands descend on the man’s shoulders, squeezing threateningly. “You are no longer welcome here, Brock. Get out, and do not show your face in my establishment again.”

Seeing that the troublemaker is no longer going to be a problem, Bucky focuses all his attention on Steve. He still hasn’t recovered his breath, and Bucky is starting to get worried. His friend, finally noticing the commotion, runs up and puts his hand on Steve’s back.

“Hey man, you need your inhaler?” Steve shakes his head, flailing a hand at him, but his lips are starting to turn a bit blue, and Bucky looks at the dark-skinned man with barely concealed panic in his eyes.

“Where is it?”

“Should be in his pocket.”

Instructions given, Bucky reaches around the front of Steve and gropes at his pockets. And only his pockets, dammit! Finding the cylinder, he presses it insistanly into Steve’s hand. “Steve, just take your damn meds, you’re turning blue!” With a glare, Steve brings it to his mouth and puffs at it, his chest working hard to get the spray into his straining lungs.

“‘M fine, lemme go.” He grumbles, squirming to get out of Bucky’s arms. Bucky reluctantly releases the smaller man, following closely behind for any further drunken stumbles. His caution pays off when Steve wobbles, his friend also there to catch him when he immediately trips. “Sam, shove off, I gotta take a piss.” 

“Sure man, as soon as you can take two steps without hitting the dirt.” The man raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Steve’s scowl before turning to Bucky. “Hey man, Sam Wilson. Thanks for backing up Steve there, he’s all brawl no brain when he gets a few in him.”

“Bucky Barnes. No problem, he seemed to be doing just fine till his footwork gave out.” Bucky sticks a hand out to shake the hand Sam is offering him, surreptitiously snaking his left arm around Steve’s waist while he does. “Well after all that excitement, I feel like a smoke. Walk you to the head?” He asks Steve, who grumbles under his breath but starts moving forward without pushing Bucky away. Bucky shrugs at Sam and starts forward in time with him. “What the hell, Steve, that guy was twice your size and a fuckin’ asshole on top of that.”

“I had him on the ropes.”

“Sure, on a good day, no problem, I won’t horn in on your fun. But you’re three sheets to the wind, ain’t ya pal?”

“What if I want you to horn in on my fun?” Steve smirks, but given his sideway lean the delivery loses something. 

Bucky sighs. “Ya, you’re drunker than hell. Maybe one day I’ll get ya to flirt with me while you’re sober, wouldn’t that be somethin’.”

Steve stops so suddenly Bucky’s guiding arm nearly pushes him over. “I wanna flirt with you all the time. But it’s work. It’s not right.”

Bucky’s eyebrows are climbing, but his incredulous response is interrupted when Steve grimaces and clutches his stomach.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna hurl…” Without enough time to both process those words and understand the meaning, Bucky’s shoes get drenched with the (thankfully) liquid contents of Steve’s stomach, and he wrinkles his nose at the smell.

“Damn. Ok, night’s over for you. Where’d your buddy go…” Bucky cranes his neck, checking for Sam by the bar, but doesn’t see him among the press of bodies. “Shit. Lets get cleaned up a bit, then I’ll see about getting you home.” Steve just groans in response, so Bucky takes that as agreement and drags him the rest of the way to the bathroom, using a handful of paper towels to mop up what he can while Steve nearly drowns himself in the sink. Done gargling, he squints at Bucky and pats his pockets.

“Where’d my glasses go?”

“Crap. Probably on the floor somewhere by the bar.” Bucky winces. “So those things aren’t just for your hipster-aesthetic?”

“What? I’m not a hipster.” Steve looks nearly as outraged by this as he did the drunken asshole’s homophbic slurs.

“Ok, if you say so.” Bucky shrugs and offers Steve his elbow. “Shall we? Your buddy Sam should be around there somewhere, I’ll drop you off with him then find your glasses.”

Steve grins. “Knew I’d get you on your knees before the night was out.”

“...what the hell. You punk, five minutes ago you were barfing, ten minutes ago standing up to the world’s injustices, and now you’re back to trying to get in my pants?” Bucky shakes his head and laughs. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Jerk.” Steve pouts. “This is the part where you offer to get me home yourself. Then I can invite you up for some coffee, get sober, and climb you like a tree.”

“You got it all planned out, huh Stevie?” Bucky spots Sam standing by the stage, talking to a guy with a bass strapped across his chest. “If you can adapt that plan to a night when you aren’t soused, I’ll be all for it, ok?” 

“How’s our resident crusader doing?” Sam laughed, turning towards the pair. A whiff of stench hits him, and he pulls a disgusted face. “Ah. Awesome. Man Rogers, you’re gonna owe me big-time if that smell gets into the laundry.”

“No worries Sam, he got away clean. My shoes, on the other hand, not so lucky.” Bucky sighs dramatically, chuckling when he sees a tipsy Clint making his way around the crowd now standing in the middle of the room, the lack of music having ended the dance. “Hey Clint, you good?”

“I’m feeling good Bucky, how you doin’? Who’s the babe?” He nods at Steve, who scowls.

“Clint, this is Steve and Sam. They work at Shield Coffee, I’m sure you’ve seen them there.” Clint waves enthusiastically to them, and they nod back, Steve still looking sour.

“Hiya. Listen Buck, we ough’ta head out, Tony is about to crash and burn with that red-head. Blondie, you riding with us? If you wanna claim the room, you’d better scoot, get that sock on the knob before Tony crawls in. And don’t forget to put a sock on your knob, right Buck?” Clint winks, nudging Bucky before throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulders, who looks bemused and a little taken aback.

“Jeez Clint. He literally just ralphed on my shoes. I’m makin’ sure they get home okay before we head out.” Bucky turns hastily to Steve. “You good? Ya need me to call a cab or somethin’?” 

“Said ‘m fine. You need to go, ‘s fine. We’re all fine.” Steve’s mercurial mood has shifted again, and he sloppily untangles from Bucky’s arm and shuffles towards the door. Looking after him sadly, Bucky turns at a tap on his shoulder. Sam is staring at him understandably.

“He’s a little brat when he’s drunk. He’ll wake up tomorrow cursing the world at large and feel like absolute shit over how he’s acted. Don’t sweat it, man. Good seeing you, and thanks again for pinch-hitting with the asshole earlier.” With a goodbye wave to Clint, Sam jogs off to catch up with Steve.

Bucky sighs. “This could’ve been worse.”

“Oh ya, how?” Clint asks cheerfully.

“He left without his glasses. So, all I have to do is find them, and I’ll be able to trade them for his number.” Bucky grins. “Or maybe I can just write mine on them with a marker.”

“Hell ya bro! Totes adorbs! New mission: Hunt down blondie's specs, collect Tony, and blow this popsicle stand!” Clint declares with a flourish of his finger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam smirkes and holds out the glasses to Steve, who forgoes any premise of chill and snatches them eagerly. And sure enough - written across the lenses is a phone number...and a smiley face. Steve looks up at Sam with awe.  
> “I...didn’t totally fuck up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dears!! Chapter two, coming at ya, as promised ^-^
> 
> All of the love to AHM1121 who kindly beta-read, held my hand through plot issues, reminded me that situations are important not just dialogue, and changed PAGES of tense...because I can't remember to stay in the present worth my life. Love you, lady!!

“Morning, sunshine! How’d’ya feel, ready to rejoin the land of the living?” Sam laughs at the inarticulate grunt he gets in response from Steve. “Guess that’s a no. Have too much fun last night, hmm? Tell me you at least got his number, Steve.”

  
“Nope. Was too busy making a fool out of myself.” Steve groans, resting his head on his forearms on their kitchen counter. The coffee pot in front of him burbles soothingly, the scent of the sweet nectar of God promising an end to the throbbing behind his eyes.

  
“Didn’t seem to put him off too much. I’d say that boy likes you.”

  
“Sam, I blew it, and don’t try to tell me otherwise. I propositioned him before we’d even been talking a minute, got into a fight where he had to back-up my drunk ass, then threw up all over his shoes. If I’m lucky, he’ll pick a new spot to get his caffeine so I never have to face the indignity of seeing him again. The world couldn’t be that cruel.”

  
“Steve, man, don’t be too hard on yourself. Trust me. You didn’t see the look on his face when you went storming off.” Sam, used to Steve’s profound lack of self-confidence, sighs and pats his friend’s shoulder. “Get some coffee in you, mope for a few hours, then pull your head out of your ass and stumble downstairs. Your shift isn’t until 2, you’ve got plenty of time to wallow.”

  
“Fine. If you insist.”

  
“There’s the cantankerous old man I know and love. Laundry day has been shifted to tonight - you may’ve hit his shoes with the majority of your puke, but you caught some backsplash on your jeans, and I am not living with that smell!”

  
“Thanks, I had decided to stop dwelling on my humiliation, so great you brought it back up.” Steve growls half-heartedly, while Sam openly scoffs at him.

  
“Get outta here with your salty attitude, go pour your heart into your sketchbook, pine, stare at the sky with your soul in your eyes, fuck if I know, just get out of my kitchen!” Sam twirls a dish towel in the air threateningly, and Steve grabs his travel mug warily, filling it with steaming liquid, before edging out of the room, never taking his eyes off Sam. He heads down the hall towards his room but detours to the bathroom at the last second. Sighing, he faces the inevitable - without glasses, he’s going to have to put in his contacts.

  
It’s not that Steve has anything against contacts...they’re just a bitch to put in, dry out too fast, he hates having to remember to carry eye drops along with all the other crap he carts around, and he always forgets to take them out before he crashes, meaning the next morning he has to struggle to pry the dry pieces of plastic from the inside of his eyelids, leaving them sore and puffy for hours. And sure, Steve can see all the ways that contacts are better than glasses - they don’t get dirty and need cleaning constantly, or fog up when the espresso machines let out a puff of steam, but for him, the hassle was well worth it. Begrudgingly getting the stupid things in, he went to his room and plopped down onto his bed with a huff. His sketchbook was on the bedside dresser, and what Sam had recommended probably was gonna be how he spent the next few hours regardless.

  
Drawing had always been a retreat for Steve. When he was young, stuck in bed for days at a time with this malady or another, the world outside his window felt so far away. Putting pencil to paper and getting the image in his head out and real made the world feel closer, and with years of diligent practice, it was an easy decision to apply to art school. Remembering his ma’s praise and support had him flipping thru the book to a sketch he’d done of her, from before the cancer took her vitality. Laughing in the kitchen with crinkles on her face from joy rather than pain. Baked goods in the oven, not casseroles donated by pitying neighbors. An apron, not a paper gown.

  
Sniffing, Steve let his fingers hover over the image, then sighed and wiped his eyes. That was not what he meant to come in here and think about. As much as he loved and missed his mother, today was supposed to be a day of brooding over Bucky. He flipped forward, past landscapes and cityscapes, good memories and sad, to find an empty page. Put his pencil to the paper...and blanked. Trying to force his mind away from one heartache to another had garbled his brain and heart enough to stall his hand. Frustrated, he grabbed his phone and scrolled to a cite for artists. He browsed the prompts, trying to find something to spark his creativity, but everything felt shallow - ‘draw your dream house’ - it’s not the home Steve cares about, it’s who’s inside it - ‘draw the perfect sunny day’ - sunburns, pollen, and bees, oh my! - ‘draw a dog you saw, or a pet you had as a child - thanks allergies, for keeping animals at an arm’s distance. Throwing his phone down with a roll of his eyes, Steve started moving his pencil across the page, not drawing anything, just letting his hand move as it willed. He stared at the ceiling, back flat on the bed, book resting on his raised knees, letting the sound of graphite transferring to wood-pulp soothe his restless spirit.

  
A gurgle like the backfiring of an old car jolts Steve out of his head, and he chuckles to himself. Could be the lack of food sapping the energy from his brain. Picking up his sketchbook, he drags himself back out to the kitchen, Sam long gone, and fixes himself a quick bowl of cereal with soy milk. An allergy to nuts on top of being lactose intolerant didn’t leave too many options - and he’d be damned before he put OJ on his cheerios! Unlike some heathens he’d met…

  
Without inspiration conveniently striking, Steve decides to just practice drawing life-studies. The human body in motion was a tricky thing to get down right - proportion and shading, musculature and personality needing to meld just right to not only look human, but look interesting. There were only so many ways to throw a football, a frisbee, a discus if he was feeling classical...what about holding a phone? Or resting a hand on a jaw...Steve faded in and out of conscious thought, focusing on the hands coming to life on his page. A hand connected to an elbow, cupped a jaw with a striking cleft, a set of lips curling into a small smile...and with a blush, he found himself staring at a portrait of Bucky. Sitting by a window at Shield, eyes sparkling with laughter, his hair tucked behind his ears with just a few wisps hanging around his face…

  
Ok. Steve had it bad. This wasn’t a surprise, but to find he’d absently drawn a full study of him while doodling? Ya, that was a level Steve didn’t think he’d hit. Shaking his head he checks the time and jumps to his feet, running to his room to change into something for work - living upstairs of the shop was great and all, cut his commute significantly, but even he’d need more than three minutes to get ready! Guess that sketch sucked up more of his day than he’d thought…

\-------

Peggy raises a judgmental eyebrow when Steve tumbles in, his hair sticking every which way, shirt rumpled behind the apron he was still tying around his middle. “You had a good night, I hear. Was it really that good though, Steve?”

  
“What? No, jeez Pegs, I got caught up in a sketch! I’m not just getting out'a bed now or anything. Sorry I’m almost late.” He smiles timidly. She rolled her eyes at him, but the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth had his shoulders relaxing.

  
“Nearly late is close enough to late as bares no mind, my dear. Next time, set an alarm.”

  
“Won’t be a next time. Alarm it is.” Washing his hands, Steve walks into the front of the shop, Darcy waving from the register while Sam smirked at his disheveled state.

“Come on, get in here.” Darcy hands back an order from the little printer next to the register, and Steve let himself settle into the mindless buzz of work. Once the little rush died down, the three of the set to cleaning up the inevitable drips and crumbs, napkins and wrappers left laying around.

  
Standing on the customer side of the counter always felt super weird to Steve, and he laughed under his breath while running a damp rag over the glass. Darcy was counting out her drawer, her shift being nearly done.

  
“Oh Steve, there was someone here earlier asking about you. Tall guy, longish brown hair, dreamy eyes, sound familiar?” Her eyes sparked with mischief.

  
“I...Darcy, was it Bucky Barnes?” Steve did not have the patience for her teasing today.

  
Darcy pouts prettily. “You could’ve played along, dude. Now I don’t want to give you these back…” From the pocket of her apron she pulls out a very familiar-looking pair of glasses. Steve’s eyes get really wide and he lunges across the counter for them, but she dances out of reach. “I think they’ve got something written on them!” She held them up to the light, and Steve could make out red marks on the lenses, possibly numbers? “Steve, I think this is his phone number!” Darcy crows. “You went out and got Bucky Barnes’ number?! Sly dog! Tell me all about it!” She claps her hands demandingly, and Steve sighs, admitting defeat. He could out-stubborn the best of them, but no-one could get around Darcy when there was a hint of gossip to be had. The honorary little-sister to everyone, there wasn’t a mean bone in her body, so Steve couldn’t feel angry at her teasing...but he sure could be annoyed.

  
“Darcy. I’m not hopping around trying to grab those. Gimmie.” He held out one hand, palm up, and crooked his fingers a few times, signaling her to hand them over.

  
“No dice. Details, or I’m taking these home with me, and you’ll just have to wait till my next shift to get his digits. HEY!” Sam swoops out of nowhere from behind her and plucks the glasses out of her hand. “Come on, you know I wouldn’t’ve done it, I just want some information.” She crosses her arms under her ample chest and sulks. “Steve doesn’t date, but here he is with the number of the hottest piece of ass in school, and you just expect me to stand by? Sam, you know me better than that...and you know Steve better than that...what do you know?!” Her eyes narrow and she stalks forward, intent on something juicy to blab to her best friend Jane about once she got home. Otherwise she’d be likely to have to listen to Jane drone on about something incredibly geeky and detailed about stars and wormholes or some shit that was cool, but way over Darcy’s head. She worked on campus in the same office as Jane, but her job was more office-work, not so much sciencey-junk. As Darcy proved shift after shift, she was far from dumb...just rather ditzy, flitting around from one subject to the next as her interest sparked and waned. And right now, her interest was laser-focused on prying information out of the two silent men in front of her.

  
“Steve will share when he’s good and ready, Darce. Not before. Now scoot - your shift is over. Get home safe hun! Got your taser?” Sam furrows his brow at her - with a multitude of younger family members, it was easy for Sam to take on a protective-older-brother role, and the subways of New York could be dicey. Darcy rolls her eyes and nods.

  
“On my keychain, in my purse, right next to my MetroCard, gonna be in my hand the whole way home. Don’t worry about it.”

  
“Not likely, sweetheart. See you later.” With a hug and a smile, Sam moves past her to grab the canvas bag of cash to stick in the safe for Peggy to handle later.

  
“Bye Steve. See you later.” Darcy waves sadly to Steve, who sighs at her hangdog look and offers one bit of something to assuage her sadness.

  
“We ran into each other at Asgard last night, I dropped my glasses, he must’ve found them and brought them here, ok? Anything else will be told later if there’s something to tell, ok?” The squeal Darcy lets out at this news has Steve wincing, but the happiness on her face when she dashes around the counter to squeeze him makes it worth it.

  
“Yay! Can’t wait to hear the rest! Bye Steeb!” Like a whirlwind of lipstick and clunky necklaces she dances out, leaving a perplexed Steve behind her, spreading his hands in confusion.

  
“My name is already shortened to one syllable...why does she try and make it even shorter?”

  
“Who the hell knows, man. That gal defies all the natural laws of time and space, you think talking she’ll be any easier to figure out? You want these or what?” Sam smirks and holds out the glasses to Steve, who forgoes any premise of chill and snatches them eagerly. And sure enough - written across the lenses is a phone number...and a smiley face. Steve looks up at Sam with awe.

  
“I...didn’t totally fuck up?”

  
A cleared throat behind Steve has him leaping out of his skin with a high-pitched squeak he’ll later deny making, and spinning in mid-air he fumbles to land facing Natasha, the lady who runs the dance-class half of the yoga/dance studio next door.

  
“Shit Nat, don’t do that! My heart can’t take it.” He pants, holding a hand to his chest for dramatic effect. She just raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

  
“Language, Rogers. Hey Sam.” Her eyes flick to Sam and she gives the tiniest hint of a smile - it was there in her eyes, if you knew where to look.

  
“Hey Natasha - Red Scare blend?” Sam was already reaching for the appropriate tin of the loose-leaf tea blend Peggy made up herself. She could be found every few weeks with little piles of tea, multiple pots of water boiling on the stove, a towering stack of cups with dregs of blends, and a notepad where she meticulously kept track of her inventing process. There were, at this moment, eight different blends available - while the number was never below five it rarely got above a dozen. She named them at her whimsy, usually with some vague connection to a person that the taste of that particular tea reminded her of. With Nat’s birthplace being Russia, the connection here wasn’t so much ‘vague’ as ‘we are close enough to make this joke and no one else’.

  
“Please. What did you not fuck up?” Her gaze was steady and piercing, and without as much practice dealing with it as Steve has he was sure he would’ve quailed under its weight. As it stands, however, he just stares back at her with his most innocent face and tries to surreptitiously shove his glasses in his pocket without moving and drawing her attention to his hand. “And what are those?” Her sharp dark-red nail points straight at the hand holding the specs, and Steve sighed internally. Crap.

  
“I lost my glasses yesterday at Asgard and they got turned in. Got my contacts in, so I don’t need them right now, hence their path to my pocket.”

  
“They look pretty dirty. Need a wet-wipe?” A little glint was showing in her eye, and Steve swallows nervously.

  
“No, no. I’ve got a special cloth to clean them with upstairs, I’ll take care of that later.”

  
“Mm-hmm. May I get a muffin with that tea, Sam?” Her attention shifted without pause and Steve felt his shoulders sag with relief. He walked around the counter to wash his hands, edging past Sam’s ass where he was bending to grab a chocolate-chip muffin from the display. “So, who’s number is this?” Steve spun and felt his jaw drop in shock - Nat smirks at him, twirling his glasses by one arm.

  
“Natasha! How did, when, I...give those back! I just wrestled them from Darcy and now you’ve got them and I just can’t with you all right now!” Hands dripping wet Steve pushes his hands thru his bangs in frustration, scowling when cold water on his forehead trickles down his face. Laughing, Nat holds them out to him within easy reach.

  
“Oh Steve, you’re too easy. Dry your hands, wouldn’t want to smudge the marker.”

  
“You just wrestled them? I see how it is, I step in to help and get written out of the narrative completely. See if I help you next time you’re in a bind, Rogers.” Sam prances dramatically to the register, ignoring Steve’s exasperated “come on, Sam!” “That’ll be it for you, Nat? Wanna take Bruce anything?” Bruce and Nat, besides working together, were good friends who, at one point, dated. While they’d found they didn’t mesh well as a couple, they remained close, acting as business partners and adoptive family to each other.

  
“He said he’d eaten this morning. Cold pizza with Clint.” Nat rolls her eyes.

  
“So he’ll likely be in later, angry and green, clutching his stomach. Got it. I’ll put a plain bagel and some ginger-mint tea aside for him.” Sam winces in pity - while none of them besides Nat had met Clint to hang out outside work, they’d all heard plenty of exasperated stories of his bumbling. Steve felt a tickle at the back of his mind…

  
“Hey, Sam...was Clint at Asgard last night?” Sam quirks a brow and thinks for a moment. “You know...that dorky blonde wearing purple? With Bucky?”

  
“Bucky Barnes?” Nat butts in. “Clint said he lives on his floor. Good guy, maybe a little slutty.” She shrugs before continuing. “Rooms with Tony Stark, that rich kid who’s always blowing something up. Clint likes them.” Nat said this with a finality in her voice - if someone was liked by one of her few friends, that made them good in her book. It may not be easy to gain Natasha’s trust, issues from her mysterious childhood likely the reason, but the lady was loyal to a fault, once she decided you were in. She also made it her business to know something about everyone - sometimes it seemed she knew everything, and if she didn’t, she acted like it anyway. “So this is Bucky’s number. Good catch, Steve.”

  
“I...guess so? We ran into each other yesterday. I...didn’t think I made the best impression.” Steve felt the tip of his ears burning and ducks his head.

  
“HA! Little man over here picked a fight while trying to get in Barnes’ pants, then barfed all over the guy’s shoes. Not the best impression is a hell of a way to gloss over that. But,” Sam claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder, making the smaller man sway and hide a wince, “obviously it didn’t deter him any. So, you gonna call him now or later?”

  
“I’m...not?”

  
“The hell you say!” Sam stares at Steve in genuine shock. “You’ve been salivating over him for months. I’ve been hearing you moan over his qualities day in and day out, he’s gone out of his way to give you his number despite seeing you at...not your worst, but I’ll agree, not your best...and you’re NOT GOING TO CALL HIM?!” Sam gapes and swivels to Natasha. “Back me up here, woman! He’s insane, right?”

  
“Steve. Why don’t you want to call him?” She asks gently.

  
“Cause he’s Bucky Barn-”

  
“Who clearly likes what he sees!” Sam threw his hands up and stalks away, roughly snatching up a rag and going around to clean tables, muttering under his breath.  
  
Natasha leans over the counter, looking Steve in the eye unblinkingly. “Steve.”

  
“I was drunk, Nat! I saw him at the bar and got so nervous I slammed a shot of whiskey then downed two beers.”

  
“Three beers!” Sam shouts from a few tables away. Steve scowls.

  
“Three beers, then. I was wasted. I wasn’t acting like myself...and maybe he thinks that’s what I’m like outside of work or something...cause he’s never seemed to be interested in me here. If he left me his number, it’s cause he’s expecting that Steve...not...this Steve.” He gestures to himself sadly. “I’m not confident, or funny, particularly smart or interesting. He’s gorgeous, and I look like a skeleton with some paper stretched over it. He’d end up disappointed and awkward, and I’m not going to handle that well.”

  
“I don’t know Barnes. But Clint says he’s a sweet guy, beneath the eyeliner and skinny jeans. He may be ‘slutty’ but if all he wanted was a quick fuck, he wouldn’t be bringing you your glasses with his number, he’d be dropping lines and batting his eyelashes.” Nat frowns and waves her hand in front of Steve’s face. “Earth to Steve.”

  
“Did you say eyeliner?” Steve’s eyes were glazed over. Surely he would’ve noticed…

  
“Clint ‘borrowed’ mine, said a buddy needed it, and I convinced him to explain. Told him to keep it. Pink eye’d clash with my hair. Text him, ask him if he’d like to get coffee together sometime.”

  
“Seriously?! Coffee!” Steve sputters.

  
Natasha shrugs. “You know what he likes. Seems like a safe place to start. And we can ogle the two of you without hassle.” She grins at him, showing teeth.

  
Steve groans. “We?”

  
“You know you’re just gonna be telling us every detail anyway.” Sam says, leaning on the curved glass displaying today’s baked goods. “‘S easy for us to just be here. Moral support, home field advantage, escape plan. AND someone to tell you how things go from a non-doom-and-gloom view, Eeyore.”

  
“Gee thanks, Sam, mocking my depression, exactly what a best friend does.”

  
“You know it. Steve,” Sam’s eyes soften, “you know we’ll back you, whatever you decide. But don’t try and decide how things’ll end up before they’ve even started. Give him a shot, man. Worst case scenario, he finds a new place to get his caffeine fix. Weren’t you just saying you were hoping he would to save yourself the supposed embarrassment of seeing him? Welp, now that option is back on the table, but only if your date bombs. So hit him up! Chop chop, now, while we’re young!”

  
“No! You both seem to have forgotten, but we’re at work! I’m not gonna text him at work. After I get off shift.”

  
“You see any customers? Anyone walk in and interrupt this drama? Not a soul. For once in your life, bend that rigid set of morals and send one fucking text message while on the clock. Seriously man, you think Peggy would even care?” Sam rolls his eyes, and even Nat smiled crookedly. Steve worshiped the ground Peggy walked on, and her regal air mellowed significantly when speaking with him, so she clearly had a soft spot for him as well. “Seriously Rogers, go in the back if it worries you that much. Shoot off a text before you talk yourself into not doing it.”

  
Steve pauses. That...wasn’t the worst idea. “...two minutes, tops.”

  
“That a boy!” Sam cheers. Nat’s face creases in a small but genuine smile, and she makes shooing motions with her hands to egg Steve on. He gives them a weak grin in response and walks into the prep area. Digging his glasses out of his apron, he stares at the numbers written across the glass. One digit was slightly smudged - likely from being passed thru so many hands a pockets over the day - but thankfully was still legible. Hands shaking, he pulls up a new message box in his phone and types in the number, then started trying to figure out what the hell he would say to Bucky Barnes.

  
“Hi! It’s Steve! Thanks for…” No.

  
“Hey, this is Steve, from Shield. Wanted to say -” What the hell, is he giving him a job interview? No.

  
“Bucky, hi, it’s Steve!” Exclamation mark...too childish? Too eager? Forget waiting three days to text him, but texting that day and using an exclamation mark might be pushing things…

Steve Rogers : Hey, thanks for dropping my glasses off

Not bad, not bad...for lack of finding anything wrong with the text, Steve holds his breath and hits send. And immediately regrets it. Oh god. He should’ve waited until after work, spent a few hours composing the perfect text, not rushed one off that quickly. Maybe he should’ve asked Sam or Nat to read it over, help him come up with ideas...ya no, that wouldn’t’ve ended well. Sam would’ve frowned and told him to ‘be himself’ and Nat would’ve gone off the deep end with something flirty and mortified him.

  
His phone buzzing in his hand both derails his anxious train of thought and nearly gives him a heart attack. Looking at the screen and seeing a new message from ‘Bucky Fucking Barnes’ sets off a whole new line of anxiety and a heartbeat you could dance salsa to. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Ok, get it together - put the freak-out on pause until after reading the message…

Bucky Fucking Barnes : No problem. The marker, I have on good authority, will come off with water :)

Oh god. A smiley face. That’s so cute. How is Bucky Barnes, the Bucky Barnes, being cute? The guy oozes sex and charm, he holds open doors for little old ladies and got into a prestigious engineering program...and he’s using a smiley face in a text? Huh. Maybe, Steve thinks...maybe this might work out after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO...what did y'all think?? Shorter than ch 1, I know - I want the story to be plot-driven, not word-count-based, and this felt like the appropriate stopping point. Ch 3 is just about ready, ch 4 in progress!
> 
> Continued love and adoration for [AHM1121](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHM1121/pseuds/AHM1121) If you want kinky-fuckery, or even a complete fic with plot and kinky-fuckery :P check out her works!!!
> 
> Till next time, loves!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our idiots-in-love try and set up a date :) cuteness ensues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live!!! Your patience has paid off! Have some happy fluff and awkward flirting as a reward :P  
> So much love to my amazing friend [AHM1121](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHM1121/pseuds/AHM1121) who enjoys poking at me to write way too much :P go check out the amazing works she's got - kinky smut and slow burns!!!

“Fuck! Ow. Ow. My nose.” Bucky groans and gropes for his phone. He’d been laying in bed texting his sister when a new message from an unknown number came in. Context clues being awesome, he’d shot a text off to Steve right away...and immediately regretted it. A smiley face Barnes? Fuckin’ really. Oh God he’s a teenager again. A smiley face?! If Becca ever hears about this she will laugh him into an early grave.

Steve Rogers : Ya, some water did the trick, thanks  
Steve Rogers : And I’m really sorry about the other night  
Bucky Barnes : Forget about it. We all have our nights. You feeling ok?  
Steve Rogers : Ya, thanks - felt like death warmed over earlier, but I’m ok now. You?  
Bucky Barnes : Not even a hangover :P

Again, with the emojis? God, he can hear his sister snickering already…

Steve Rogers : Jerk. Jealous  
Bucky Barnes : It’s cause I’ve built a tolerance over many years. You would not enjoy the effort it takes to get to this point.  
Steve Rogers : Ya, I’ve been praying to the porcelain god enough, I’m ok  
Bucky Barnes : Sounds like a good idea.

And...now what. Ideas, usually so easy to come by in bars picking up dates, have flown the coop and left him sitting on a big pile of nothing. Awesome. Bucky gingerly eases onto his side and reaches over the edge of the bed to grope for his coffee. A precarious tower of boxes and random machine parts made a convenient place to set a few things, since an end-table would do absolutely nothing to help him on the top bunk. And if it falls a few times a week, eh, such is life. A sip spawns a grimace - cold. Ick. A fresh cup is necessary for cognitive processes...just like that, a light bulb!

Bucky Barnes : You want to get a coffee sometime?

Oh god. Oh god ohgodohgod. He works in a coffee shop!! What kind of stupid suggestion is that? Becca won’t even have to do it for him - Bucky’ll be shipping himself to Timbuktu post-haste.

Steve Rogers : That’d be perfect!  
Steve Rogers : I know just the place. Tomorrow sound ok?

Huh...ok.

Bucky Barnes : Cant :/ Monday morning?  
Steve Rogers : I have class until 2, then work. Tuesday?  
Bucky Barnes : Class at 7, class at 10:30, class at 3…  
Steve Rogers : Well shit  
Bucky Barnes : ‘tis the college way of things. Friday?  
Steve Rogers : Friday...could work. Say, 10ish?  
Bucky Barnes : Perfect :)

Well. From this regression into the time when he had no game, a date has come about. Go figure. Bucky seriously considers buying a lottery ticket. Smiling to himself, he looks back at his phone and unthinkingly takes another sip of coffee, wincing and sputtering at the still cold brew. “Tony! Coffee?” Craning his neck around he looks over at his roommate, goggles perched on his head and his eyes centimeters from a green and silver board he’s delicately poking at with long metal tools. “Tony? Coffee?” A disinterested hum was the only answer. Bucky considers throwing a pillow at him, but he isn’t that much of a dick. Enough to think about it, but not to ruin whatever it was Tony was so focused on in one moment of spite. “Tony. Tony. Too-ooo-ooonyyyyy.”

  
“Busy. Fuck off.” When Tony doesn’t talk, that is a sure sign of the end times. This must be actually important. Bucky shrugs to himself and edges out of bed carefully, grabbing his coffee cup and a clean-ish looking mug off the desk before wandering out to the common area. Clint waves affably from the couch in front of the tv.

  
“Hey Clint. Dog Cops again?” Bucky snickers and walks over to the coffee maker, swirling some water in it to clear the last dregs of nasty black sludge before getting a new batch brewing. A swirl in the mug got a ‘good enough’ too, most of the residue likely being old coffee anyway, so what’s the harm?

  
“Dog Cops for life, bro. New season is gonna start soon - marathoning all weekend to make sure I remember all the important bits.” Clint looks over his shoulder and smirkes. “You look like a dope. What’s that smile for?”

  
“Got a date.”

  
“No shit? You don’t date.” Clint’s brow furrows in confusion. “Your mattress is a trampoline with how many people bounce off it. No shame, wish I had your options, and I know you’re staying safe, I ain’t your dad to give you the talk and all. No-one waltzing outta your space looks pissed, and there hasn’t been a whiff of drama. So...why’re you looking to change that?”

  
Grabbing the remote with a distracted flick he pauses the recording and stares at his friend. A nervous shifting of Bucky’s feet has a mischievous grin bloom on Clint’s face.

  
“Ah, is my little boy growing up? Looking to settle down, white picket fence, two-point-three kids and a dog? I need to give someone the shovel talk?! Oh please, lemme do a shovel talk, I’ve always wanted to!” He brings his hands under his chin in an exaggerated clasp, begging with his whole body.

  
“Jesus Christ, Clint!” Bucky felt his cheeks pinken. “How much coffee have you had? You’re a mile a minute. I’m cutting you off.”

  
“Deflection. And that’s rich, coming from you. Might as well set up an IV of the stuff for everyone on this floor.” Swinging over the top of the couch, Clint comes to stand next to Bucky, leaning his hip on the edge of the flimsy table and crossing his arms. Raising an eyebrow, he quizzes the brunette. “So...who’s the lucky lady? Lad? Whatever.”

  
Bucky snorts. “Lad? Seriously?”

  
“I don’t discriminate, and I know you don’t either, so just spill! Or I could keep chewing your ear off ‘til Tony wanders out here and gangs up on you with me.” He wiggles his eyebrows, mirth creasing his face.

  
Sighing, Bucky glares at the coffee slowly dripping out of the decrepit machine. He dully thinks again how strange it is that, with how much tinkering he does, Tony hasn’t tried to ‘fix’ or ‘improve’ the machine. Given that he’s latched onto every other bit of gadgetry he finds, it’s weird that this appliance that brings them so much joy and heartbreak has been spared. He makes another mental note to ask him about it - he can never seem to remember to, even when they’re both cussing the pot out in the bleary early mornings when they desperately need to caffeinate before class. A pointedly cleared throat makes him sigh in resignation. “His name’s Steve. The guy at Asgard the other night? Works at Shield?”

  
“Firecracker blondie? Ya, I know him. Or, of him. Nat talks about him sometimes. She likes him.” Clint shrugs. “So we know he’s quality. Enough to get you to date, though? How much do you know about him?”

  
“Not...a lot.”

  
“So...what’s got you interested? His ass don’t quit?”

  
“It’s cute. All tiny and perky.”

  
“...I really didn’t need to know.”

  
“Then don’t ask.” Bucky smirks and winks, grabbing the pot and pouring out his (finally ready) coffee, the second pour going to Tony’s mug, doctored with enough sugar to choke a horse. Bucky takes his cafe-coffee sweetened and flavored, but his home-brew black as night. It works, and that’s what matters. “I don't know man, he’s...you saw him at Asgard. He’s tiny but mighty. Real smart. Once he starts talking, it’s like he’s got this fire inside him, this real drive to change the world. I don't know...he just seems smart and funny and cute.”

  
“You already said cute.”

  
“Fine. Adorable. Smartass.”

  
“You’ve made a good excuse for laying him like linoleum. But why do you want to DATE?” The emphasis is accompanied by a lean that puts Clint way up in Bucky’s personal space, and he tries to lean subtly away from the ode-de-Clint. Guy needs a shower - he reeks of pizza grease and...wet dog? With the no-pet policy of the dorm, Bucky shrugs off the scent as unimportant.

  
“I...don’t know. I had a class with him last semester. He always sat alone, was never late, always had his work done, and was constantly arguing with the professor. He’s got a mind, and he was never scared to talk if there was something he felt strongly about. But outside of class, at Shield...it’s like he can't get the words out. Like, shy and blushing, makes him look younger than he could possibly be. Damn, at Asgard, it was like a totally different person took over! He was confident and sexy and did you see him go after that misogynist homophobe? No fear! Makes me wonder about those bruises I saw him sporting...you think he’s picking fights often?” Bucky frowns and thinks about the likelihood of this… “Ya, I bet he is. I don't know Clint, he just seems...himself. Not like some watered down version of someone else, or an amalgamation of the top-trending styles. He’s just...Steve.”

  
“This is the part where you three-name him.”

  
“I...what?”

  
“You know, when your mom gets mad and yells your whole name, or you’re being given an award and they announce you - presenting Steve...is it Steven? What’s his last name? Got an initial you can guess off in the middle?”

  
“I don’t know! Jeez Clint, you’re putting way too much thought into this. He’s just Steve.”

  
“Like Beyonce?”

  
“No! I don’t KNOW his last name, ok? I’ll find out later. It’s not important right now, I’m not running a background check on the guy!”

  
“Well, if you want to keep your name, fine, but if you’re taking his it matters. Oh god, you aren’t gonna hyphenate, are you? I knew a kid who ended up being Green-Sawser ‘cause his parents couldn't agree and that kid was teased forever. He’s probably changed it by now, I should facebook-stalk him and find out…” Musing, Clint reaches absently for the coffee mug and Bucky slaps his hand away. “Rude!”

  
“Get your own. It’s right there.”

  
“Eh. I see now you’ve got a new beau I’m gonna be left by the wayside.” A pout gets an eye-roll, and Bucky reaches to the stack of paper cups left there by Clint for just such a necessity, pouring him a cup of black coffee as well. “I knew you still cared.”

  
“Beau? I ain’t French, I’m Irish.”

  
“How COULD I have forgotten, Buchanan. My humble apologies.” The bow Clint gives wouldn’t be out of place in the center ring of a circus.

  
“There isn’t a thing about you that’s humble, Clint.”

  
“True enough. So! Date. When?”

  
“Friday morning. At Shield.”

  
“Huh. I mean, it is a coffee shop, so, classic. Where he works...giving him the home-field advantage, nicely reassuring for someone who you said is shy until warmed up, but...you’ll have to find another place to get your fancy-shmancy caffeine if it bombs. Which sucks, since you had to stop going to Hydra after that one unfortunate incident that will not be spoken of.”

  
“Ya, let’s not. That dude was WAY too old to be trying to pick up college kids. He deserved that punch in the overly-whitened teeth.”

  
“Agreed. And we know why Starbucks is out.”

  
“Tony is an asshole and should never have insinuated we were a couple, coming up with our ‘couple name’...makes me nauseous to even think about it. Ya...getting coffee’ll be tough if things go south. But...I don't know, Clint, I have a good feeling about this guy. He seems…”

  
“Genuine? I think that’s the word you were dancing around earlier.”

  
“Sure.”

  
“I’m sure it’ll go great. No worries!” He claps him on the shoulder in solidarity. “Wanna watch Dog Cops with me?”

  
“Nah, I’m good. Gonna get Tony this while it’s still hot. Thanks man.” Grabbing both drinks, Bucky walks back to his room and puts the mug carefully out of range of Tony’s elbows, but hopefully close enough that he’ll see it without breaking stride. Checking his phone, it doesn’t have a message from Steve, but several from Becca, yelling at him for disappearing. Oops. Damage control…

\--------

“Dammit. What do I wear!? Sam!! What do I wear?”

  
“Clothes.”

  
“Not the time for dad jokes! Get your stylish ass in here!”

  
“Steve, calm down.” Walking into Steve’s room with a laugh, Sam gives him a head-to-toe once-over. “What’s wrong with what you have on?”

  
“THIS is what I was wearing to Asgard, I can't let him think I only have the one nice set of clothes!”

  
“Well…”

  
“Shut up and help me!”

  
Sam laughs and shakes his head. “If you want, just swap out the shirt for something more you. You’ve got how many blue checked shirts, my non-hipster friend?”

  
“I don't want to talk about it.”

  
“Where is that post-it note? You know what to do...HA! Right there, on your headboard, where I left it! Go on Rogers, read it to me, what does it say.”

  
Steve sighs and recites, without checking, “wear the green when you want your eyes to pop, the blue to look wholesome, the black to look sharp. I know! But...the blue?”

  
“YES, the blue! Pick one. No, not that one. Medium squares. Yes. Good. You’re wearing...those pants?”

  
“WHAT? I wore them to Asgard, they...seem popular.”

  
“For dancing! Do I need to write you another post-it cheat-sheet for your pants too? Damn useless white boy...something tighter. You don't need the movement you had when going to dance. You want to show off your goods in a more obvious way.”

  
“I love having a straight best friend.”

  
“Hey, I’m your black best friend, don’t go lumping me with the rest of the hetero idiots, I have class they could only dream of.” Sam laughs and smacks Steve. “Now get dressed and head downstairs, I gave up my break to run up here and help your fashion emergency.”

  
“Thanks Sam, I really appreciate it.” Steve pulls out his most earnest expression, and Sam hits him again.

  
“Don’t try the eyebrows with me, I know that look. You know I’d be there anytime, man. See you downstairs soon. Front window seats are still open.”

  
“Dammit. I don't want to feel on display. Isn't there a back booth?”

  
“No, you are not hiding in the dark and putting that whole table between you two. Front and center, so Peggy, Nat, and I can critic you later.”

  
“Ugh!” Steve buries his face his hands. “Don't remind me. It’s bad enough this is a DATE with BUCKY FUCKING BARNES, I have to know you three will be watching like vultures. Can't you guys take it in shifts? Compare notes or something?”

  
“Nope. Tough luck, little man.” He smacks him on the back, just soft enough to not knock him over but hard enough to not seem like he’s humoring Steve. Which Steve knows and appreciates, even if it still feels a little grating. But most things in life rub him the wrong way in one mood or another, so he tires to remember it’s just his anxiety talking. Or his depression. Whatever! Life isn't out to get him. He just has to change his pants into something tighter and he’ll be gone. His shoes don't matter...right? “...Sam? You still there? Sam?” ...fuck. Converse are fine.

\-------

Damn Sam...and Dr. Suess for ruining all rhyming words ever. All the back tables were either full (with single people and their laptops, assholes, no chance of them moving) or had trash on them (sticky half-dried dribbles, so Steve can’t just clean one himself). So the front tables it is. Steve tries to pick one with bad sight-lines from the counter...but that wasn't exactly something he could finagle. At least there wasn't any clutter on them for him to fiddle with. He can scroll on his phone and look normal instead of twirling a carnation or shredding a napkin like a lunatic. Great. And since he literally lived above where the date was to take place, he was more than fashionably early. Was there such a thing as fashionably early, or was it just late? Either way, Steve was sure he’d missed the mark substantially. Too late to scuttle upstairs to pace and kill time, it was ten till Bucky was due to show, and Steve was doomed to sit here and sweat until he showed...or bust. Oh god, Bucky wouldn’t ditch, would he? Nah, not when he was known here and had given Steve his number. Nope, he’d show. Even if the date crashed and burned, he’d show, then find a new watering hole. Great. Just what Steve wants to think about - blowing this so bad he loses the opportunity to watch Bucky Barnes coming and going at least once a week. Then again, if this goes well...he gains the opportunity to watch him...coming. So...there is that.

  
The door swings open, and Steve jerks his head up. Angels don't sing, birds don't flit by, but they should, cause when Bucky walks in...it’s like something out of a Disney movie. His hair is so neatly styled it’s as if the wind didn’t dare touch it, his clothes look like they’ve been tailored by an army of mice and compliment his skin tone and eye color perfectly. The smile that gentles his eyes could woo the coldest of shrews, and Steve stumbles a little when he stands up to greet him, his hip knocking into the table and shifting it with a small skreitch.

  
“Hey, Bucky! Glad you could make it.” Steve sticks a hand out and winces internally. Way to sound like a passive-aggressive asshole. Those were the worst words he could’ve chosen to sound welcoming, baring maybe ‘get the fuck out.’ Maybe.

  
“Hi Steve. I’m not late, am I?” Bucky shakes his hand and settles in the chair across from where Steve sinks into his own gingerly, edging the table back into place.

  
“No, no, I’m just early.” Steve gives a small shrug. “Habit.”

  
“Ya, I remember in class last semester, you seemed to always already be in your seat when I got there - when you were there, you were the first one.” The brunette tips his head, a gentle inquiry in his manner - Steve could either explain why he’s got the habit of being early, or why he missed so many classes. Either one has a reason that...isn't what Steve would consider first-date material, but lying or dodging the question would probably be worse.

  
“My mom would always say ‘if you’re on time, you’re late’, and I took it to heart. What class did we have together, I don't remember seeing you…” Steve blushes. Implying he was looking and would remember if Bucky’d been in a class of his, or that Bucky is totally forgettable. Great.

  
“Entry-level biology, without the lab. With Zola.” Bucky and Steve both shudder, causing them to give small twin laughs.

  
“Did that guy give you the creeps as much as he did me?” Bucky asks, scrunching his nose in a way that makes Steve’s heart jump. Jesus, Rogers, get it together.

  
“Yes! I don't think _anyone_ felt comfortable in his classes. How he’s tenured is beyond me. The way his eyes would light up anytime we’d get into the theory of gene splicing and the human genome...just freaky. That’s one guy I’d rather be a professor than an actual scientist, ya know?”

  
“Ya, I get that. In a white coat with a test subject, he’d make monsters worse than Frankenstein.” Bucky nods.

  
“Agreed.” A pause in conversation lets Steve take a moment to stare at Bucky’s blue-gray eyes. The green shirt he’s wearing evens out the shade, and his hair looks like it has a little product in it to keep it styled in an old-fashioned part.

  
Bucky feels his stomach jump as he watches Steve’s blue eyes rake over his face, the intensity unnerving but wonderful all at once. He talks without thinking, desperate to get those blue eyes to snap back to his. “You read any good books lately? Non-school related?” He nods towards the shelf of pre-owned books catty-cornered to the wall by the counter, surrounded by some cushy sofas and chairs. It was an area Steve had thought about settling in, but the chairs are too far apart for easy conversation, and the sofas too informal and...kind of intimate. If Steve wanted to see Bucky curled up on a couch, he’d prefer it be his own, where Steve can scootch in close under his arm, not out in public where they’d have to sit at opposite ends awkwardly.

  
“Not really. School keeps me pretty busy.” Steve shrugs sadly. “I, uh.” He hesitates, before plowing on, “I keep a copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on my nightstand. Helps me sleep on nights when um…I get, uh…just, sleep eludes me, ya know?” When Bucky nods along, Steve gives him a small smile, and Bucky feels like it’s a damn gift from heaven. “How ‘bout you? You read the classic HP series?”

  
“Sure, who hasn’t? Sort of a trademark of our generation.” One side of Bucky’s mouth turns up in a smile and Steve has the weird urge to lean forward and kiss the little quirk. “You either love it or you hate it, and either opinion will inspire heated debate. That your favorite of the series?”

  
“Yup. I feel like it marks a turning-point for Harry, where he starts to really understand the importance that weighs on him. What’s yours?”

  
Bucky considers the question. “Man, that’s a pretty personal question for a first date.” He says brazenly, watching with a smirk as the tips of Steve’s ears redden before continuing, “probably Prisoner of Azkaban. I feel like that’s the one that I was able to relate to Harry the most; he just wants normalcy, for a family that will care about the person behind his name.”

  
The conversation flows pretty easily, moving from Harry Potter to Lord of the Rings (Steve believes the movies show the breadth of the world in a better light, where Bucky firmly holds that the books are better), to tv shows. Brooklyn 99 is given a thumbs up, Grey’s Anatomy a meh, and Game of Thrones a surprising hard pass from them both.

  
“Oh, we both agree on something. This is getting pretty serious, Stevie.” Bucky laughs, moving his foot forward, nudging Steve’s on accident, but he doesn’t move it away, leaving it to rest against Steve’s. “What did Game of Thrones do to you so that you don’t like it either?”

  
Steve’s heart is pounding, which is ridiculous because it’s just Bucky’s foot. But, surely Bucky must know their feet are touching? Maybe he doesn’t, maybe all the sugar Steve’s been putting in his coffee has caused diabetic nerve damage and he doesn’t even know that his foot’s lightly tapping Steve’s to the beat of the music.

  
“You with me, Steve?”

  
“Huh?” Nice, Rogers. Super eloquent. “Sorry, distracted. What was the question?”

  
Bucky laughed, nudging his foot against Steve’s as if for emphasis. “Why don’t you like Game of Thrones?”

  
“It’s hard for me to get into a show that glorifies rape. I get that it’s medieval and raping and pillaging were just a thing.” Steve scuffs his toe on the floor under the table, reining in the rant he wants to start up, but self-aware enough to know he shouldn’t right now. There’s a time and a place, and a target audience, and Bucky doesn’t deserve the full spiel right now. “But...I don’t know. Can’t watch it without getting super uncomfortable. What about you?”

  
Bucky nods. “That’s part of it, the other part is I read the books and the show just doesn't match up. Rarely does. Harry Potter, case in point.”

  
“I will never forgive them for leaving out Peeves.” Steve snickers. “I haven’t read them yet. The guy has been publishing the same series since, what, the 70’s? And he’s still not done? Nah, I’ll wait till they’re complete, then read them. Then...who knows, maybe I’ll marathon the show. Maybe.”

  
A comfortable lull fell over the pair, and Steve took the moment to sip at his drink. The tea had gone completely cold, and he grimaces at the taste. Bucky laughs and shakes his empty cup at him. “I can see Sam deciding to come over here with refills. All the same to you, I think I’d rather avoid the table service.” He makes to stand and reach for Steve’s cup. “You want one, or what?”

  
Steve frowns, deciding if it was worth the teasing looks and eyebrows he’d get if Sam got within speaking range. “I think I’m good. You?”

  
“I could always use more caffeine. Wait for me?” Bucky hesitates halfway out of his seat.

  
“Of course, always.”

  
“Was...that a Snape reference?” Bucky smirks.

  
“Oh god.” Steve put his face in his hand, smothering his mortified laugh and trying to hide his blush. Unsuccessfully, but points for trying!

  
“Gotta say Stevie, I kinda like makin’ ya turn red.” Bucky winks and Steve felt like his ears were about to burst into flames.

  
“I’ll turn you red.” He grumbles, and Bucky flashes him a delighted grin.

  
“Promise?”

  
Steve sputters, and Bucky practically prances to the counter before he can come up with something coherent to respond with. He wasn’t in much better of a state by the time he comes back, either, twisting a napkin he’d snatched from another table when Bucky’d sprayed a few drops of coffee onto the table laughing earlier. A little pile of napkin-bits has started to form by the time Bucky finishes chatting with Sam and waves to Peggy before settling across from Steve. His brow furrows when he sees how tense Steve is.

  
“Steve? Everything ok?” Bucky asks hesitantly. When Steve just nods jerkily back, Bucky feels his gut clench with worry. “Did I cross a line somewhere? I’m sorry…”

  
“No Buck, that’s not it. Just...I’m not…” Steve bites the inside of his cheek, trying to stop himself from mumbling nonsense.

  
“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It was just teasing, Stevie, no pressure, no expectations.” Bucky reaches out a hand to brush his fingers gently across Steve’s knuckles. Steve feels his touch like flames licking on his skin, and hopes Bucky doesn’t notice the little shiver that ripples through him.

  
“It’s just...at the bar. I know I was...different. Than I am now. Than I am usually.” He says, waving his hand in a slow dismissive gesture. “I don’t want to...get your hopes up. I’m not saying I don’t get like that unless I’m drunk or anything, I just…” Steve stops and takes a deep breath, staring into his lap. He doesn’t want to risk taking a peek at Bucky. Not if it means seeing pity on his face, or a frown...that would probably kill him, it just would.

  
“Steve. Look at me?” Well, shit. Ok, maybe just one little peek…

  
Bucky looks at him with understanding. Not pity or unhappiness. Maybe a little sad, possibly a little shy? He was doing that thing where he hid his eyes behind his eyelashes, and damn if it didn’t do things to Steve.

  
“Did it seem like I didn’t like the guy I just had an amazing date with?”

  
“Well, I mean…” Steve flutters his hands and clenches on the twisted remnants of napkin.

  
“I’ve had a great time. You’re funny, and smart, and really cute. Add this on to what I already saw of you in class and at the bar, and I don’t see why I wouldn’t like you.” Bucky’s eyes twinkle. Twinkle? Was that something Steve actually thought looking at him? He wasn’t in a Hallmark movie, for fucks sakes!

  
“But…” Steve struggles with finding the words to describe his disbelief, “you’re Bucky Barnes!” Steve felt like he had to explain the disparity going on here. The only other option was picking apart how Bucky’d described him, and that was just not happening right now. Nope.

  
“I’m aware.”

  
Steve rolled his eyes at Bucky’s smirk. “You’re _the_ hot topic on campus. Everyone wants in your pants: guy, girl, nonconforming, nerd, jock, professor, janitor, you name it, I’ve heard them talking about you. And if you hadn’t noticed this yet,” Steve gestures towards the piece of plastic behind his right ear, “I’m hard of hearing, so if I’ve heard them, you know it’s serious.”

  
“I hadn’t noticed. My friend Clint is hard of hearing too.” Bucky shrugs. “Do you lip read? Cause that’ll give me an excuse to be looking at you as much as I want to.”

  
Steve flushes again. “Yes?”

  
“Are you sure?” Bucky teases. “Cause I know the alphabet if you need me to sign something. Might just be faster to text a message though.” He shrugs again. “I’m serious. I’m interested, if you are. We can be as serious or not-serious as you’re comfortable with.” A flash of doubt shows before he can smother it. “Are you...not interested?”

  
“No! I mean, yes. Ugh,” Steve groans, wanting to bang his head against the table, “I’m interested in dating you. Very interested. I just...don’t think I’ll be able to hold your interest for very long. I’m...I’m not interesting.” The word ‘interest’ and it’s permutations has been used far too much in the last few minutes.

  
“Prove it.”

  
“Prove that I’m not interesting?” Bucky nods, his eyes laughing while his expression remains serious. “I thought you were a scientist, don’t you know you can’t prove a negative?”

  
“I’m an engineer, thank you very much. I’ll actually do shit in life besides make tests tubes glow and fizz.” Bucky pretends affront. “Come on Steve, I mean it. What do you do in your spare time?”

  
“I’m in the art program at school, so my free time gets eaten up by practicing. I’m mainly focused on charcoal and pencil drawings, since I’m red-green color blind.” Steve raises one shoulder in an approximation of a shrug.

  
“You’re kidding. You’re a color blind artist? That’s the furthest thing from uninteresting you could’ve said.” Bucky looks honestly fascinated. “So let me get this straight. You’re a hard of hearing, color blind, asthmatic artist who picks fights in bars and argues with professors?”

“I mean...not just in bars. And arguing kinda goes hand-in-hand with the fighting, so I guess I also have to say not just professors. It’s just the right thing to do!”

  
“Steve...no offense meant, since I’m clearly ok with the aesthetic, but you look like a stiff breeze would take you out. Why do you have to -”

  
“Cause no-one else is.” Steve cuts him off hotly. “I don’t like bullies. I got no right to stand by and let someone get hassled or spout hateful nonsense and _not_ speak up. It’s only what everyone should be doing.”

  
“Damn Stevie, you’re really something else.” Bucky lays his hand on Steve’s fist, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat.

  
“You weren’t wrong about the stiff breeze.” Steve mutters. “And…” He pauses, taking a breath to gather what was left of his courage. “If we’re using the first date to lay all of our cards on the table...I have a heart murmur too. And scoliosis. I was in and out of the hospital a lot as a kid. Being stuck in bed is what got me drawing in the first place.” He sighs. “I also have depression and anxiety. When it’s bad Sam has to make me eat and I can’t even get out of bed. So...I’m not exactly anyone’s first choice of partners. Plus, I can’t dance to save my life.” He tries to inject a little levity into his admission.

  
“Maybe I can teach you. As for the rest…” Bucky pauses, running his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture, “I’ve got anxiety too. Shouldn’t really be drinking coffee, since it makes things worse, but my class load has really gotten heavy since I got into the engineering program. I figure, if I can stay up long enough to get my work done, so what if I don’t sleep for a few days?”

  
“A few days? Seriously, Buck?” Steve’s eyes fill with concern at the admission.

  
“It’s not a big deal. You should see my roommate, Tony. He’s like the Energizer bunny on crack.” Bucky brushes aside Steve’s concern. “Maybe you can come over sometime? I’m working on a robot arm right now for an advanced robotics class dealing with real-life applications. This unit is on prosthetics.”

  
“Wow. That sounds severely cool.” Steve’s eyes shone with the possibilities of the project. “You could really change people’s lives. That’s amazing.”

  
“Nah, it’s a great thought-experiment, but my design won’t work in real life. The mechanics are too heavy to be supported by a human comfortably, not if I want to keep the dexterity and tensile strength. Maybe in cosplay or something - the exoskeleton I’m adding looks like dragon scales, that would be cool.” Bucky muses. “However the...oh - sorry, I got a little sidetracked.”

  
“No, it’s great. I love listening to you talk about something you’re so clearly passionate about.” Steve blushes, catching his use of the l-word too late. Bucky doesn’t seem put off, since his cheeks are pinking up too. The pair stare at each other in silence before a cleared throat startles them both.

  
“So sorry to interrupt, but Steve...your shift starts in ten minutes.” Peggy smiles at Steve’s horror-filled gaze. “You have time still, no rush. I’m sure Sam won’t mind staying a few minutes while you finish up here.” She smiles at them before turning away, her heels clicking with her confident walk into the back of the store, past a grinning Sam. He flashes Steve a thumbs-up, and Steve buries his face in his hands with a groan.

  
“Oh god. They’re never gonna let me forget this. I totally lost track of time!”

  
“Don’t sweat it, I did too. I can’t believe it’s been four hours…” Bucky checks his phone with a grimace. “Your shift starts at two?”

  
“Ya. Good thing the uniform here is an apron. Even living upstairs, I don’t think I’d have time to change.” Steve winces.

  
“That’s cool though, living right above where you work. Close to campus too.” Even knowing Steve has to go, Bucky was finding it hard to end their date, wanting nothing more than to linger just a few minutes longer, make him smile just one more time.

  
“It’s perfect. Peggy owns the building, and Sam and I share a two-bedroom, or I’d never be able to afford something like this.” Steve stood, sweeping the bits of napkin into his palm to toss in the trash on his way behind the counter. Bucky stood as well, fidgeting with his hands, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

  
“I get that. Scholarships help with the dorm, but life isn’t cheap. If I had time, I’d get a job, but…” He trails off. “Maybe we can make this a weekly thing? If you want. Our schedules are pretty at odds, so trying to find time might be tough…”

  
“Ya, ya, that’d work!” Steve gulps back his enthusiasm. “I mean, I might need to bring a sketchbook sometimes, but I usually don’t have any plans Friday mornings. Just homework.”

  
“Same. Homework is balls.” They chuckle and stand awkwardly, neither one sure of how to part.

  
“Well...till next week, I guess.” Bucky says.

  
“Ya. Next week. Uh, text me?” Steve meant to brush the hair off his forehead, but forgot to factor in the handful of napkin-confetti. “Oh shit!” White paper cascades down his shirtfront, falling into a mess around their shoes. Steve hunches to pick them up, but his hand instead runs into Bucky’s, who’s kneeling down to help.

  
“Well, that’s one way to get me on my knees.” His face is so close Steve can count his eyelashes. When Bucky’s tongue sweeps over his lips, Steve sways forward, drawn in by the motion and wanting nothing more than to chase it. He just manages to stop himself from pressing his lips against Bucky’s when he loses his balance leaning forward, catching his hands on Bucky’s shoulders with a gasp. “Careful, Stevie! I want you in my arms and all, but maybe not here? Your friend looks like he’s about to break a rib laughing.” He nods over Steve’s shoulder, and the little hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up, reminding him that they aren’t alone.

  
“Sam. I’m gonna kill him.” Steve grumbles, eyes still locking on Bucky’s lips, watching as they quirk to one side in a smirk.

  
“I’ll help you hide the body. He’s keeping me from kissing you right now...and I really want to kiss you.” Steve looks at Bucky’s eyes in surprise, just in time to see Bucky’s eyes dart to Steve’s mouth and back. The moment holds, electricity sparking between them, before they both jump apart at the clang of Sam dropping a giant sheet pan with a loud yelp of “mother fucker that is hot!”

  
“I should probably…I gotta go...” Steve stammers as they hasten to stand, Bucky unthinkingly shoving the remnants of Steve’s napkin into his pocket.

  
“Yeah...I need to…” Bucky points over his shoulder to the door.

  
“Alright.” Steve says, pressing his lips together as Bucky hesitates.

  
“Fuck it.” He whispers under his breath before surging forward, brushing a light kiss along Steve’s cheek and then backing away as if he was on fire. “Friday, Rogers. Don’t be late!”

  
“Kinda hard to be late when I live right there.” He points to the ceiling with a blush and a grin, watching as Bucky runs into the door.

  
“Ah, guess you’re right. Friday.”

  
“It’s a date.” Steve confirms, grinning madly as Bucky gives him a salute before waltzing outside. He stands for a minute longer, fingertips brushing along the line of his cheek where Bucky’s lips had been. A slow sardonic clapping has him turning with a groan.

  
“Sam, don’t. Just...don’t.”

  
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Sam’s smug grin says otherwise. “So. You and Barnes had some vibes, huh?”

  
“You think so? I feel like it went well, but…”

  
“But nothing! You two sat there oblivious to the world for hours, literal hours, Steve. King of smooth ran into the door backing out cause he couldn’t tear his eyes off your dumb mug. And didn’t I hear you two make plans to meet again next week?” A raised eyebrow leaves Steve without room to squirm out of the question.

  
“Yes. Next Friday, same time and place. And...maybe a few Fridays after that too? We might be making it a standing date.” Steve grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck before passing into the back room while Sam whoops with glee behind him. Peggy looks up from her work at the small table across from the pantry with a smile teasing the corners of her red-lipped mouth.

  
“Date went well, I presume?” She drawls.

  
“Ya, I...I think it did.” A buzz in Steve’s pocket had him fishing his phone out with a slight frown that quickly flips at the sight of Bucky’s name heading the message.

Bucky Fucking Barnes : God dammit Steve Rogers, I just dumped your napkin bits all over the sidewalk! I hope you’re happy.

Steve grinned, leaning back against the counter before replying.

Steve Rogers : Very

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!! So sorry this took so long to get to y'all :/ real life has been kicking my ass in a major way. Writing has been a struggle, and while this chapter has been written for a while, I've wanted to have ch 4 done before posting...it's not, but it didn't feel right sitting on this forever and making you lovely people wait just because my muse is being a flighty bitch. Hopefully, getting this up will light a fire under my ass and ch 4 won't be a month out X.X  
> All of your comments and kudos help spur me to write, and I love each and every one of you! Yes, you!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another date, with the appearance of Steve's artwork! And...a kiss?!
> 
> *minor trigger warning for a panic attack, hopefully not too intense*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys...at long last, another chapter! (unless you're waiting until this is complete, in which case, scroll and read to your hearts content uninterupted) Real life issues and a monster of writers-block has kept this chapter about 60% done for the last...while, despite the best efforts of my dear friend AHM1121, but the bug finally bit and the story continues!!!  
> YOU ARE ALL AMAZING AND I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!

    Bucky couldn’t believe the week he’s had. Dwelling on it while walking to Shield for his second date with Steve, he chuckles to himself, stifling a yawn. After leaving last week he’d walked home feeling like the top of the world, texting Steve with a grin stretching his face. Tony and Clint had teased him mercilessly, trying to get details on his date out of him, but he resolutely refused to answer their prying questions. Even when Clint pouted and Tony threatened to sic his newest creation - a one-armed robot meant to hand him things that kept wacking him in the head - on him, Bucky stayed mum, just smiling placidly.

His classes kept him hopping from Monday thru Thursday - his essay was finally graded and handed back, and his midterm loomed. His robot had been due, and he’d been unable to get all the plates machined in time. While the exoskeleton wasn’t a required part of the assignment, it still grated that he’d had to turn it in unfinished. The busy-work from the rest of his classes kept him just that - busy! His goal had been to catch up, maybe get ahead, to clear his Friday morning, usually reserved for homework, so he could see Steve without the stress of homework hovering over his head. He’d been moderately successful, although his coffee intake had gone through the roof, and his bed wasn’t speaking to him, he’d neglected it so thoroughly.

Texts with Steve had kept him motivated through the week. ‘Goodnight’ preceded ‘Good morning!’ in their text-stream, and the message never failed to bring a smile to Bucky’s face. Even on the mornings where he hadn’t actually slept in the interim. Clint was threatening to hide the coffee, now that he had competition for the swill on a round-the-clock basis, and Tony had actually offered to get them their own machine to fuel Bucky’s late-night studying sessions. Bucky was holding onto his sanity by a thread, that thread close to snapping under the pressure. 

Shield coming into view, Bucky pulls himself out of his introspection. He could see Steve sitting at the same table as before, thumb flying across his phone, a little smile on his face. Bucky felt a little surge of jealousy at whoever or whatever was making Steve smile, he wants to make that smile turn his way. The emotion surprises him, and he shakes his head, shoving the odd moment into the back of his mind to pick apart later. He pushes the door open, and Steve’s head snaps up, an even brighter smile lighting up the whole room. “Hey Buck!” He calls, a little too loud for the space. Bucky couldn’t care less if the entire cafe turned - they’d see that it was he, Bucky Barnes, putting that look on his guy’s face, and rue the day they didn’t bother to look and see the treasure hiding in plain sight.

“Hey Steve!” He walks over to the slight man and grips him in a firm, if brief, hug. “How’s your week been? Besides what we talked about already. Any tea to spill?” He wiggles his eyebrows overdramatically, sitting across from the blonde and laughing when he scoffs.

“I work selling coffee and tea, trust me, I see so much spilled tea on the daily it’s pathetic.” Steve laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Fair enough. Seriously though, what’s up?” Bucky rests his jaw in a hand and stares in seeming fascination while Steve blinks and starts detailing the homework he’s been slogging through.

“...and I’ve got a set of portraits due in a month that are killing me, I mean, I love sketching people, but with the time it takes, I have a hard time finding anyone to model for me. I try and remember the faces of people who come into the cafe, but I can’t exactly draw while I’m on shift, and taking pictures of people without their permission is seriously not ok, but I’m too awkward to ask if I can take someone’s photo so I can draw them later, I mean, how weird would that be for someone trying to drink their coffee, to have a worker ask for their picture like that, no way. Peggy would not appreciate me driving away her clientele like that. Besides, drawing from a photo just isn't the same, you know?” Steve blushes and looks at his hands, now clasped in his lap when a moment ago they were waving animantly in the air, gesticulating along with his descriptions and explanations of his projects. “Oh god, I’m sorry Buck, I’ve been droning on and on, you must be so sick of hearing about this.” Bucky shakes his head quickly.

“No! No, I’m not bored at all! I love listening to you. Do you have any sketches that I can check out?” Bucky smiles hopefully.

“I don’t have my sketchbook on me, it’s upstairs, in my room. I have some picture on my phone, although the quality isn’t great. Shitty phone.” One side of Steve’s mouth raises in a resigned smile. 

“Well, I don’t want to see shitty versions of your art. No offense.” Bucky nods apologetically, and Steve laughs, nodding his understanding. “So...can I see your sketchbook?” He tries to pull a puppy-dog-eyes look (which he refuses to admit he learned from his little sister when she was a toddler, the girl could get the hardest soul wrapped around her finger effortlessly!), but the effect is ruined by a yawn that does its level best to detach his jaw from the rest of his face.

“Sure...want to come up with me? No-one’ll mind if we duck through the back of the store to the staircase. It’ll be a lot faster than going around the block to the back door that leads to the exact same staircase.” Steve explains while standing and collecting their trash to throw away on their way past a harried Sam and Darcy towards the swinging door separating the front and back halves of the cafe. Bucky stares curiously at the kitchen while Steve whisks him past, the pair clomping up the stairs to the first landing above the shop. Steve fishes his key out of his pocket and unlocks the door, leading Bucky inside before turning and re-locking the door behind them. Toeing off his shoes, he leaves them haphazardly under a little table covered in mail and random bits of trash and spare change, abandoned from upturned pockets.

“Ten-cent tour - entryway, living room, kitchen, hallway - that door is the bathroom, the far one is Sam’s room, and this one,” Steve strides hurriedly in front of Bucky, pointing at each feature he was describing as they walked through and past them, “is my room.” He swings the door open and hesitates before moving in, waving Bucky to follow him.

It’s not huge, but the full-sized bed shoved into the far corner doesn’t take up all the available floor space, so it’s got that going for it. Beside the bed is an upturned wooden crate, the open portion facing out, acting as a mini-bookshelf for a series of identical sketchbooks, with a lamp and assorted odds and ends on top of it. A desk and rolly-chair take up the wall opposite the bed next to a closet, the door open slightly, showing a mess of clothes and cardboard boxes inside. Covering the walls are drawings tacked up with pushpins, band posters, flyers for various civil-rights movements, and, above Steve’s bed, a photo of a younger Steve grinning widely in the arms of a women with his same eyes wearing an emerald scarf on her head. Bucky snapped his attention back to Steve when a book was held out to him, opened to a drawing covering the entire page. He smiled to see an alleyway, dumpster and trash detailed precisely, but with the focal point of the drawing being a scraggly kitten nosing towards the viewer. Without color, the scene looked soft, not as gross as it should’ve been - was that a crusty sock curled under the wheel of the dumpster? And a bit of orange peel on top of it? But the kitten, with its fur sticking out in every direction, grimy and smudged, held his attention. The eyes, both with goop at the inner corners, looked like they were sparkling, full of curiosity, but the body posture was wary, ready to flee at the first sudden movement.

“That’s adorable! Scene from real life?” Bucky grins at Steve, questioning him eagerly.

“Ya. Few blocks from here. Never caught the kitten, it scampered off, never saw it again. I’m allergic anyway - would’ve found the nearest shelter for it, but,” he shrugs, “might’ve been better this way. Most aren’t ‘no kill’ shelters, and a life on the street isn’t great, but with how sweet it was, I like to hope it found a home.”

Bucky grimaces, tilting the page to get another angle on what of the body he could see. Was that a hint of ribs under the fur? “It looks pretty rough.”

“Oh, ya, I...I need to work on perspective - I’ve been thinking about going through my old books, redoing the sketches...just haven’t gotten around to it yet.” Steve’s voice is soft, and Bucky looks up at him in confusion. His shoulders were slumped, and his brows furrowed. Thinking back quickly, Bucky stumbles over his words, trying to clear up the misunderstanding.

“Steve, no! I didn’t mean the sketch, I meant the kitten! It looks like it was living a rough life, all dirty and living in garbage and shit. Pitiable - I can see someone wanting to take it in, clean it up, ya know, save it.” He smiles gently. “The drawing is amazing. I don’t know about perspectives, but it looks great. Steve, this…this is ridiculously good.” He flipped back a page, then looked up guiltily. “Sorry, is it ok if I flip thru this?”

“Sure.” Steve shrugs. “Nothing really personal in that one, it’s my ‘out-and-about’ sketchbook. When I’m walking around I’ll see something that just begs to be drawn. Or looks interesting, with some wonky shape or shading, and if I want to challenge myself, I’ll try and get it down. Most of the sketches in there won’t be as complete as the kitten, since I’m mostly doodling when on the subway or between classes. Lots of bits of the city around ‘campus.’” He chuckles. “Such as it is. So...cat person or dog person?”

“Oh, animal person, for sure.” Bucky nods decisively. “Not picking. Love cats, love dogs, little fluff-balls, scaly darlings...just can’t handle birds. You? Well, you just said you’re allergic to cats, so, just cats or all fur-babies?”

“If I can inhale it, I’m probably allergic to it.” Steve admits ruefully.

“Well, that blows. Maybe a reptile? Bearded dragons are really personable, and snakes are sweethearts. A tortoise or turtle would be very low-need, just give ‘em lettuce and a heat lamp, but they’ll grow too much for an apartment in time. Just a thought.” Bucky shrugs and flips another page, sitting down on Steve’s bed absently.

Steve smiles and pulls his wallet and phone out of his pocket to set on his improvised nightstand. Plopping down next to Bucky, he leans closer to see which sketch he was looking at. “Oh ya, the library. All those freaken’ stairs.”

“All those fucking stairs.” Bucky nods in agreement. “Not fun when it’s wet out. Which I’ve learned to my embarrassment.” 

“Mmm, I sense a story, care to share with the class?” Steve chuckles and reaches over to flip a page himself, remembering the next one was a subway scene with a guy standing at a pole. The guy himself wasn’t noteworthy - his shirt was what had caught Steve’s eye, loudly proclaiming ‘FUCK THIS, FUCK THAT, FUCK YOU!’ and earning the man glares from nearly everyone in the car.

Bucky snorts at the picture. “Nice. Ya, decided to test gravity once and fell going up, hit my knee and my chin. Right here,” Bucky gestures to the left of his cleft, “got a nice slice, needed a few stitches, got a little scar.” Steve leaned closer, squinting, and saw a very light line on his chin he’d never noticed. His hand drifted up to trail a fingertip along it, stubble obscuring any textural difference of the scar. “Concealer works wonders.” Bucky smirked. “My buddy Clint provided that, believe it or not.”

“Seems like a handy guy to have around.” Seeing Bucky stifle another yawn, Steve pauses and asks quietly, “you using some right now to hide bags under your eyes?”

“Sorry.” Another yawn - likely punishment for trying to kill the previous one - draws out the vowel, and Bucky looks apologetically at Steve. “Maybe a bit? Haven’t been sleeping much. Too much studying. Midterms are next week, and I need to keep my grades up for financial aid.”

    “Ya, I get that. Here, scootch up with me.” Steve moves to lean against his pillows, already propped up on the headboard from earlier that morning when he’d been, take a wild guess...sketching. He patted the spot next to him, and Bucky grinned and hefted himself over to sit where Steve’d indicated.

    “Got me in your bed already, Stevie. Hope you’re proud, I’m said to be quite the catch.” He winks, marveling at the resounding blush. “What’s this one?” He asks.

    “Uh…” Steve struggles to pull his head out of the gutter in order to comprehend Bucky’s question. He squints at the page. “I’m...not sure. It looks like...a building? With...a pair of legs? And...a cup? Maybe? Probably just doodles. Next!”

    “Sure thing, boss.” A tree, leaves falling from it in a pile, far too neat to be natural, with a soccer ball barreling towards it. “Fun.” Flip. The mouth of a sewer drain, eyes glowing within it, a flower floating atop the water streaming towards it. “Creepy!” Flip. Clouds, sunshine, birds. “Aw, sweet.” Bucky lifts a hand to yawn again. Flip.

    “You missed the cloud giving the sky the middle finger in the last one.” Steve laughs.

    “Oh shit, what?” Bucky turns the page back quickly, laughing. “Son of a bitch.”

    “This is one I want to redo. The perspective isn’t great. Ya, it’s not meant to be center-scene, but the way the sketch is drawn, the sun and grass, the birds, the sketch is so busy, you don’t look for the joke, just take in the scene as a whole and continue. And if that’s what I meant when I drew it, perfect, it’d be a great comment-piece on distraction and hiding-in-plain-site and I’m sure I could talk out of my ass forever about it. But that’s not what I was going for, so it’s just poorly constructed. What’d’ya think, Buck?” Still looking at the sketch, Steve pauses, waiting for Bucky to give his opinion...and the quiet lengthened enough that Steve’s brow furrowed. “Buck?” He turns to look at him and has to bite back a laugh.

    “Well, that was improbably fast.” He muses. Bucky’s chin was resting on his chest, tilted just a smidge to one side, and despite what movies and romance novels would swear is how people sleep, he didn’t look beatific in slumber. The corners of his mouth had just the tiniest down-turn, and his eyebrows were furrowed, like he was worried even while asleep. The terrible posture was sure to leave him with a crick in his neck when he woke up...Steve wars with himself, wondering if he should try and shift Bucky to try and get him more comfortable. But he remembers his mom’s rule after her chemo - ‘let me lay where I lay’ - during those months, she was exhausted but unable to rest at night, and after Steve had, with the best of intentions, accidentally interrupted the only sleep she’d gotten in three days, she enacted the rule. “If I wake up uncomfortable, ah, well, that’ll be a change.” She’d chuckled, lifting one shoulder in a rueful shrug. “Put a blanket on me and the ice-pack in the freezer so I can stick it where I need it once I wake, there’s a good boy.”

    Steve flicks his gaze up a few inches to look at the picture of him with his mom. The picture was taken a few weeks after she came up with her rule, and while there were still bags carved deep into her face, the laughter and light in her eyes was bright, glowing with the good-humor that the hours of rest she snatched whenever she could brought back to her. He drops his gaze back to Bucky, and nods, deciding the wisdom his mom had shown would be applicable here - if Bucky was so sleep-deprived he fell asleep during the middle of a conversation he was actively participating in, Steve didn’t want to wake him. Not until he had to, at least.

    Carefully edging the sketchbook resting in Bucky’s right hand from his limp fingers, Steve lets it thump to the floor in front of his nightstand, as there was no real space left on his nightstand. Scooping up his phone he checks the time, and sets an alarm for twenty minutes before he’ll need to leave for his shift. Hopefully waking Bucky up then’ll be fine. He stretches his arm out and grabs a different sketchbook, one of the three empties he’s got left from the last pack he’d bought. Pencils are scattered everywhere, so finding one is easy. With a gentle smile, Steve shifts around until he’s comfy, and starts to sketch Bucky, asleep on his bed.

    The chance to draw a figure all on his own is one that Steve doesn’t get often. Models will come into class fairly often, depending on the class, and with how many classes he’s taken over the years, Steve is no stranger to drawing people. And he’s gotten friends to sit for portraits a few times, but this feels...intimate, in a way he’s never experienced. The soft light of the sun shining in is window, the lamp adding to the shadows highlighting the planes and dips of Bucky’s cheekbones and jaw are captivating. Steve twitched, wanting to lay a kiss on the apple of his cheek. His mouth was parted just slightly, the bottom lip so full, looking lush and begging to be bitten. Steve blushed. This was not the right train of thought to pursue...he shook himself, and focused on transferring the vision in front of him onto the page. Stroke after stroke, line and smudge, slowly a picture formed.

    Steve blinked. Done. From the wave of hair laying thick atop his head to the hint of shine on his lips, the exact image of Bucky in pencil was staring back at him. He winced, putting his pencil down and wringing some life back into cramped fingers. Checking his phone, he smiled ruefully - less than fifteen minutes until his alarm was set to go off. Nice timing, in that he didn’t have to worry about rushing to finish, or just being unable to, but also too short to catch a nap himself. Also too little to actually start to do anything worthwhile, like read or start a new sketch. He thought about browsing the internet, but couldn’t force himself to give up this chance to study the gorgeous man laid out in front of him.

Bucky was remarkably still in sleep. Steve had wondered if he would shift at all, toss and settle into a more comfortable position at some point, but Bucky had been almost scarily still. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest and flicker of his eyelids showed he lived, and Steve had a sudden understanding for new parents sticking a mirror under the nose of their newborns to check for breathing. He chuckled at the image of him hunting up a compact mirror to hold...but the feeling of wanting to care for Bucky lingered. The bags under Bucky’s eyes had been transferred faithfully into the drawing, but seeing them now without the artistic lense in the way made Steve frown, concerned. His fingers twitched, and he self-consciously clasped his hands in his lap to prevent himself from reaching out to trace one of the bags with his fingertips. If there was a more awkward thing for Bucky to wake up to than Steve staring at him while he slept, it’d be Steve all up in his face! Just the thought had a blush tingling on his cheeks, and he huffed a little laugh to himself.

Steve checked his phone again. Two minutes until the alarm went off. Close enough. He turned it off and frowned. “Hey, Bucky?” He whispered, hoping not to startle him out of sleep. But the brunette slumbered on, not even an eyelid flickering. “Buck? You gotta wake up. Buuuckyyyy…” Steve said, just a touch louder. “Come on, Bucky, rise and shine…” He reached out hesitantly but drew his hand back when a grumble came out of the man concurrent with a furrowed brow.

“G’way, Tones.” Bucky muttered, not shifting otherwise. Steve smiled and rolled his eyes a bit. 

“Not Tony, buddy. And I can’t exactly go away, I live here. I’d let you sleep, but I’ve, uh, got work.” Bucky’s eyes blinked open while Steve spoke, foggy with confusion before fully waking up.

    “Oh shit.” Bucky whispered. “Oh SHIT!” He sat bolt upright, his hands flying into his hair and gripping huge handfuls, pulling hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “I’m so sorry Steve, I fell asleep on you! Oh god, I didn’t mean to, I swear, I wouldn’t’a fallen asleep if you paid me, and I went and did, I’m sorry, I -”

    “Buck, Buck, stop! Take a breath, would ya? I ain’t mad.” Steve reached out and grasped Bucky’s wrist, tugging to try and get him to stop yanking his hair. “It’s not like you zoned out and dozed, you dropped off like someone cold-clocked you.” He paused for a moment, really thinking about the implications behind the bags under Bucky’s eyes. “You must’a needed that nap somethen’ serious. How...how long had it been since you slept?”

“I don’t know, a day or two.” Bucky jerked one shoulder in an approximation of a shrug. “Stevie, I am so sorry. I’ve probably fucked this all up, haven’t I?” His eyes darted up and away so fast Steve didn’t stand a chance at catching his gaze. “I - I’ll get going, I get it -”

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice dropped like an anvil thru Bucky’s babbling. “Look at me.” When Bucky shrank into himself and didn’t, Steve huffed a breath and lifted an arm, slowly, making his movement painfully obvious, to gently lay his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck. “Come on Buck, look at me.”

Bucky’s eyes closed, squeezing shut and making harsh wrinkles stand out around his eyes. Steve tightened his grip for a moment, giving Bucky something to ground himself with, fending off what Steve recognized as a panic attack. The short shallow breaths, the rapid eye movements, the babbling...it was a set of signs Steve was all too familiar with, and his heart ached for Bucky.

    “Just listen to me, ok? I ain’t mad. Like I said, you must’a seriously needed some shut-eye, what with how fast you dropped off. And if you’ve been up long enough you can’t admit how long you’ve been up, you probably need more than the few winks you just got. Can you look at me? It’s ok if you can’t, just keep listening.” Steve murmured supportive nonsense, rubbing a little circle at the edge of Bucky’s hairline with his thumb. “My ma, when her cancer got bad, she couldn’t sleep. She’d drop off any old place. Get the worst neck-aches, but she figured it was a fair trade. Your neck bothering you? Just a little nod or shake if you don’t feel like talken’.” The barest of movement side-to-side reassured Steve. “Ok, no, that’s good, thanks for letting me know.” A tiny bit of tension seemed to loosen Bucky’s shoulders. “If you can, try and match my breathing. This is gonna sound like the opposite of everything you’ve probably heard, but if you can, focus on your exhales. That feeling of not being able to breathe, wanting to gasp? Ya, it’s not your friend. When you’re gaping like a fish, trying to gulp big ol’ breaths, you’re actually building up carbon dioxide. So all the inhales you can get in won’t do ya any good ‘till you’ve got space in your blood to put it, so if you can only get the one thing going, make in the breathing-out bit. My buddy Sam told me that - you know him, worken’ at Shield right now, my roommate? He’s a psychology major, helped me through more panic attacks than I care to remember. And asthma attacks. I’ve mentioned my shitty health, right?” A tiny nod accompanied the slowly evening rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. “Ya, I must’ve. Well, anyway, I know, it sounds wrong, cause everything in you right now is screaming for air, but the best thing to do is let it out slow and steady. If counting works for you, go ahead and start numbering off your breaths, but it hella doesn’t work for me. Just makes me anxious when I can’t get the rhythm right away. You’ll have to let me know later if that’s somethen’ that’d be good for you, haven’ someone count for ya. You feeling any better, Buck?”

    Bucky hummed a soft agreement, then sighed deeply. “I’m sorry.”

    “None of that, now. I ain’t mad, you ain’t getting kicked out, and you’ve got nothen’ to be sorry about.” Steve tightened his grip again, noticing Bucky’s shoulders dropping again, tension oozing out of him. Testing out a pattern Steve thought he might be seeing, he shifted the angle and let his fingernails press against the sensitive skin on either side of Bucky’s vertebra, not digging in, just letting the sharp edges be the firmest point of contact between them. A groan rumbled, more felt than heard, and Steve sucked in a quick breath. Oh. OOOHHHH...not the time. Not the damn time, Rogers...but keep this going, get Bucky grounded, firmly in the moment…

    “You’re doing so good, Buck.” Another bit of tension dropped off. “Listenen’ so well.” An increment longer between breaths. “You’ll get there soon, just a little longer, keep it up Buck, there you go…ok. Can you look at me?”

    Bucky took a last deep inhale and exhale, then shook himself and peered up at Steve sheepishly through his eyelashes. “Hey, Steve. I - thanks.”

    “Of course, Buck.” Steve gave a last squeeze to the back of Bucky’s neck then dropped his hand completely, weaving his fingers together in his lap to keep himself from grabbing for Bucky’s hand instead. “Feeling better?”

    “Ya. I’m sor-”

    “Nope!” Steve cut him off sharply. “Don’t apologize. I get it. You needed a minute to work yourself back around to calm, and I was here to help, that’s it.” He smiled crookedly. “And ya, maybe someone else would’a been mad, but I get it. Depression and anxiety, remember? Trust me...I  _ get  _ it.” 

    “Ya...ya. Thanks, Steve. Shit.” Bucky sighed and shook his head. “You, uh, you said you need to get to work?”

    Steve saw the deflection, but checking his watch with a grimace, he saw that he didn’t have time to address it. “Gotta get downstairs. You ok to head out? Once Sam is clocked out, I’m sure he could walk towards campus with you, if you were still feeling out of it…he’s always needing to go to the library for somethen’.” Steve stood and started gathering his things, shoving his wallet and phone in his pockets, his spare inhaler already underneath the register in the cafe, leaving him with an empty back pocket he slapped out of habit anyway. Brow furrowing in thought, he caught the tail-end of Bucky’s eyes flicking from his ass to his eyes.

    “Nah, I’m ok.” A little flush on Bucky’s cheeks had Steve nodding, understanding the need to feel self-sufficient after a moment of perceived weakness. “I’m not far, could walk to my place in my sleep from here. Thanks though. You, uh...wanna do this again next week? I promise I won’t fall asleep again.” He smiled, turning on the charm, and Steve grinned back.

    “Maybe next time I’ll tell the guys to sneak you an extra shot of espresso, keep you up.” Steve frowned, rethinking the wisdom of that. “Or I’ll forbid them from giving you anything but decaf. You need to rest, Buck.”

    “I know, I know.” Bucky stood, waving off Steve’s comments and heading towards the door. Steve hurried after him, the both of them pausing to slip their shoes on by the door, Steve closing and locking it behind them, double-checking the lock carefully. While the doorknobs had been changed when Peggy moved them in, it was still a long-ingrained habit of Steve’s to make sure the lock had stuck after growing up with a landlord who turned an indifferent eye to complaints of sticky doors and fiddly locks. “Don’t worry, I’ll get some tonight. Just gotta get my homework done, and I’ll have the whole weekend to catch up on my beauty sleep.”

    “That, I don’t think you need. Just rest.” Steve teased, looking down at the wavy locks and broad shoulders just below his eye-level as Bucky briskly jogged down the stairs leading to the shop’s back entrance.

    “Aw, you callen’ me pretty, Rogers?” Bucky parried, turning with a confident eyebrow raised. Steve blushed, and plowed on.

    “And if I am?”

    “Well, I’d say you’re right. And kiss you for the compliment, if I may.” Bucky’s eyes twinkled with bravado, looking up slightly from where he’d come to a stop at the bottom of the stairwell, Steve a few steps up, leaving him only slightly taller than Bucky.

    “You may.” Steve chuckled, already leaning forward to claim a kiss. Their lips didn’t line up quite right, both of them smiling into it, but within a few moments that changed. Steve kept his lips closed, not wanting to take more than was on offer, especially considering the state Bucky’d been in just a few minutes ago, but he couldn’t help the groan that built inside him at the feeling of this, his first real kiss with Bucky. A little too dry, the angle off-kilter, but sweet, soft. His right hand came up unconsciously to cradle the back of Bucky’s head, changing his position just so, and he felt Bucky sigh as their kiss settled into something more comfortable. For all the tingles racing through him, the stirrings of attraction and lust fluttering in the pit of his stomach, what overpowered Steve was the feeling of rightness that settled over him. Kissing Bucky felt like the best possible mingling of electric excitement and relaxed homecoming, and Steve wished he could bottle this moment and live in it forever. And from how Bucky leaned forward, he might not be alone in that feeling.

    A moment or two passed - hell, it could’ve been significantly more than that, Steve wasn't keeping track, but eventually the two parted, leaning back and looking at each other in contentment. The quiet moment stretched, neither one wanting to pierce the fragil bubble of happiness, but the outside world’s noise crept in and brought them both back down to earth.

    “I should get going.” Steve sighed.

    “Ya, me too.” Bucky screwed up his mouth ruefully. “I’ll text you?”

    “Ya, sounds good. I’ll...see you later?”

    “Ya, ya. Maybe before Friday? My last midterm is Thursday evening, if you aren’t busy afterwards…” Bucky looked hopeful as he let the end of his sentence drift off.

    “Maybe. I work evenings Thursday, but...maybe.” Surely Steve could call in a favor and get off, if not the night entirely, somewhat earlier than closing time.

    “Ok, sounds...ya, sounds good. I’ll text you!” Bucky turned towards the door leading to the back exit.

    “You said that already. Ah, that’ll take you out to Thompson Street, it’d be fine for you to go back out the front if you want?” Steve offered.

“Nah, no worries, this’ll be fine.” Bucky grinned over his shoulder. “Bye, Steve.”

“See ya, Buck.” Steve smiled, watching the door swing shut and click with finality before turning the opposite direction to pass into the kitchen of Shield. Peggy looked up, meeting his eyes with a smile before turning back to her paperwork, and Steve walked into the front to the relative calm of the after-lunch lull, Sam and Darcy smiling their greetings at him while helping their customers. Clocking in, Steve moved beyond the counter to clean tables, the movements mindless after so many repetitions, dwelling on every nuance of his date. The way Bucky laughed, the intelligence and good humor in his eyes, the sexy way he smiled with one side of his mouth pulling higher than the other, showing off the cleft in his chin, the way light shown off his hair...how he relaxed so nicely when Steve gave him some commands to follow…

“-rth to Rogers! YO! Steeeeeve!” Darcy tapped on Steve’s shoulder, making him jump reflexively. “I’m done here, stop rubbing the varnish off that table and get behind the counter, would ya?” She snapped her gum and gave an excited wiggle. “I can’t wait to hear about your date! I didn’t see him leave, did you squirrel him away upstairs to have your wicked way with him later?”

“You caught me, he’s tied to my bed right now.” Steve deadpanned, huffing a laugh when Darcy squealed and giggled. “He went out the back, Darce.”

“Ya, but now we’re both thinking of him all naked and waiting, and that’ll do a body good! Thank you Steven, I am now going to go home and think about that lovely image! See you tomorrow!” She danced out of range of his playfully outraged snap of a dishtowel, still laughing when she disappeared into the back. Sam shook his head at the two of them.

“I don’t even want to know, man. I seriously don’t.”

“I believe you.” Steve left it at that, knowing Sam wouldn’t be able to hold his curiosity for too long, and started taking note of anything that need a restocking. 

Quicker even than Steve had assumed, Sam nudged him with an elbow. “Hey. Smiling like an idiot is really working for you, just so you know.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“You know I mean it in the best way.” Sam’s eyes softened. “Man, being happy isn’t something you’ve gotten enough of these last few years. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“Well, you know I’m only happy to make you happy.” Steve snickered.

“Dumbass.” He turned, suddenly more serious. “Keep it up, will ya? Or try, takes two to tango and all.” 

“I plan on it, Sam.”

“Good.”

    Steve grinned to himself for the rest of his shift, it only growing wider when he got a picture message from Bucky a few hours later, his hair wet and knotted in a bun as he laid on his pillow while giving the camera a smoldering look. 

 

Bucky Fucking Barnes : I’m only doing this sleep thing because some cute guy told me to. Just so you know.

 

Locking up the backdoor and heading upstairs, Steve shot back a quick message with a smirk. 

 

Steve Rogers : Sounds like a punk, you should kiss him sometime for his stupid ideas 

 

    Leaving his shoes by the door and his key on the crowded table he smiled big enough to hurt at the message he got back.

Bucky Fucking Barnes : I plan on it ;) 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like how long I left you guys waiting for this chapter, and I heartily apologize once again. You're troopers for waiting with so much understanding while I battled to get this chapter done. Seriously, I'd open the document and blank day after day and it was demoralizing as hell. Major love to [AHM1121](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHM1121/pseuds/AHM1121) for being there for me through every moment, keeping my spirits up and reassuring me that writers block happens to us all <3 also, love to those readers who reached out to me with encouragement, it really touched me and calmed my fears about alienating anyone over the long gap in chapters. You're all amazing!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wouldn't ghost Bucky...right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!! I'm gonna take a quick moment to thank everyone who so kindly commented encouragement and support during the ridiculous gap it's taken to get this chapter written, your sweet messages of patience and understanding have meant the world to me <3 [AHM1121](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHM1121/pseuds/AHM1121) has my continued undying love for cheerleading and pestering me endlessly while dragging this out a word at a time lol X.X (y'all think I'm exaggerating...I wish I was)

    Bucky really wasn’t surprised when Steve went all ‘radio silence’ on him. Besides a ‘good morning/night’, there hadn’t been any conversation of substance between the two of them since that disastrous (in Bucky’s opinion) date last week. Falling asleep on a date, followed by a panic attack, then their first kiss? It was a lot to dump on a guy, and if Steve wanted to ease off, let him go all amicably and shit...Bucky’d understand. But...he didn’t think Steve would’ve gone so far as to bail on their standing date, even if it was just to deliver the gentle killing blow to their budding relationship. And yet, here Bucky was, twenty minutes after they were supposed to meet, sitting alone with a nearly empty cup of coffee, at what he’d unconsciously started thinking of as ‘their’ table. He sighed and looked at his phone again, willing there to be a text he’d missed coming in since the last time he checked, oh, thirty seconds ago.

****

Bucky Barnes : Hey Steve, we’re still on for today, right?

****

Bucky Barnes : At our usual spot, want me to get you anything?

****

Bucky Barnes : You ok?

****

Yup, nothing new. Great.

****

“Hey, Bucky, right?” The mellow voice broke into Bucky’s melancholy, and he was already grimacing when he looked up and met the eyes of Steve’s friend and roommate, Sam.

“Yup. You’re Sam, ya?”

  
“Ya. Look, Steve…” The guy sighed and grimaced, looking unsure. “He’d hate that I’m letting you in on this. Man has a stubborn streak a mile wide. But you’re over here looking like someone kicked your puppy, and I just can’t stomach it anymore.”

Bucky dropped his gaze back to his cup, holding it in two hands and twirling it slowly. “I didn’t figure him for a coward, honestly.”

“What? Steve, a coward? We talkin’ ‘bout the same guy? The hell gave you that idea?” Sam looked honestly confused, and Bucky rolled his eyes internally.

“He sent you over to tell me ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ for him. Thought he’d at least do it himself.” Bucky stood, all of a sudden feeling tired to his bones. Guess the triple shot of espresso wasn’t enough to get him going anymore, dammit. He turned, edging past the motionless Sam to toss his cup and head out, stopping suddenly when a gentle hand closed around his arm.

“That’s not what’s happening here. Steve’s...he’s sick.” His deep brown eyes were kind when Bucky snapped up to stare at him.

    “What!? Since when? With what? Where is he?” The questions tumbled out so fast it’d be a shock if Sam caught them all.

    “He’s upstairs. Peggy won’t let him work when he sounds like he’s trying to hack up a lung every other breath.” Sam’s flippant tone was belayed by the honest worry in his eyes. “I think it’s his asthma, or bronchitis, crossing my fingers it isn’t pneumonia again. Little shit is determined to sit in his room and suffer through it on his own, refusing to go to the doctor. ‘My mom was a nurse Sam, I know what to do Sam, don’t hover Sam, don’t tell Bucky Sam.’ I love the guy, but I sometimes really wonder about him. Hey, you ok? Kinda spacing out on me here…” Sams eyebrows pulled down while he squinted to catch the quickly shifting blue eyes of the brunette he was hanging onto. “B, you with me?” Bucky’s eyes flickered to his but the conversation Sam was looking for would apparently have to wait as he stared at Bucky’s retreating form, wincing as the door to the coffee shop slammed. “Well, g’bye to you too.” 

****

_     Fuck fuck fuck, coughing, pnemonia, is that like a cold or a flu? Is it a wet cough or dry? No milk, dairy is bad for a cough. Fluids though, fluids are always good...soup! Soup, fuck, chicken soup...where...ok.  _ Bucky’s thoughts rushed faster than he did as he wove his way through the normal crowd of indifferent New Yorkers blocking his path.  _ I’m on Thompson, deli is two blocks that way… _ He swerved left, avoiding a busker and his gaudy t-shirt stand.  _ Matzo ball soup, that’ll work, perfect. Recipe isn’t Savta’s, but it’ll do. Wonder if I can get Mom to make some…  _ Such musings kept his mind spinning and away from the worry clawing at his chest, thinking about Steve alone and sick in his room. His shoulder throbbed warningly when he banged it into the door of a nearby deli - not one he frequented often, but he knew they’d have what he was after. Thank any lucky stars that shone behind the smog of the city, there were only two people standing around the counter. He did his best not to fidget too much, grabbing his phone and scrolling mindlessly to look more normal, not wanting to show the anxiousness vibrating under his skin at the wait.

    “Hi! I need matzo ball soup, to-go, please.” He smiled at the lady at the register, who punched in his order absently.

    “Sure thing, honey. Five forty-nine.” She took his card with a nod, swiped it, gave him a receipt without asking, and he stepped to the side to wait some more. His number probably only took a few minutes to get called, but the unabated energy still coursing through him dragged it out into eons. He gripped the flimsy plastic bag, checking the soup’s container was vertical enough to survive the trip back without spilling, and jogged out. Retracing his steps was simple, and it was harder to keep himself focused on maintaining any semblance of calm when his goal was so close - soup, check, Steve, uncheck - get to Steve. Seeing the front door to Shield, he picked up his pace, and his mind paused, his steps unwavering.

    The front door’d be fine...but the back door would be more direct. And he wouldn’t have to go through the entire store/employee area, disrupting customers and Sam’n company alike. Ok, back door it was. Rushing past and around the corner, he wrenched the door open and took the stairs in multiples, two here, three there, until he was panting at Steve’s door. He knocked before he caught his breath, his pulse giving him a tempo to pound along with for a few beats. Then he counted a dozen...and knocked again. Waited double the count...and knocked again. His breathing, so recently brought down to a normal rhythm, picked up again. Why wasn’t Steve answering... _ fuck _ .

    Bucky once again found himself running, now down the stairs, flinging out his free hand to steady his headlong sprint that was entirely too fast with gravity gleefully aiding him, and thumped down the last stair outside the cafe’s back entry. Poking his head in, he caught a face-full of warm bakery smells, but didn’t see anyone.

    “Uh, Sam? You there? Hello?!” He gradually raised the volume of his calls, and Sam’s head poked into the back. His jaw dropped in surprise, but he rallied quickly, raising an eyebrow sarcastically.

    “Hello, again. Back so soon?”

    “Sorry.” Bucky twisted his mouth to the side, rueful. “Steve isn’t answering...could you let me in? I got him some soup…”

    “I see that. Chicken noodle?” Sam was still just a head leaning through the swinging partition, the quiet sounds of the murmering patrons audible, but nothing that sounded too busy. 

    “Matzo ball. Not my grandma’s’.” Bucky winced and shook his head. “Broth-based, cause dairy is bad for coughs...right?”

    A real smile spread across Sam’s face, lighting it up with pleasure untainted by amusement. “Ya, that’s right. Good to see Steve’ll have another mother hen on his ass. He’s not an easy person to wrangle; I’ll appreciate the help. Got my own life to live, sisters to pester, dates to charm, degree to finish. In something like that order.” He brushed by Bucky, waving him to follow - needlessly, since Bucky was so close behind him he’d be beside him, if the stairway was wide enough. “Steve’s family. I’ll always be there to bully Steve into keeping himself alive, you know, but damn...two people will spread his shit a little thinner. He’s so prickly about being seen as weak, even Peggy can’t pry him outta his bedroom when he’s like this...if he lets you stick around once you’ve given him the goods, _ don’t leave _ . Ok?” He punctuated the order with a loaded look, and Bucky nodded slowly.

    “Ok...why?”

    “Cause it’ll mean he’s bad enough off, groggy enough, that his natural resistance to help is low, and you’ll be able to nudge him along without fighting him too much. I say ‘too much’ since Steve Rogers has never done anything that wasn’t his idea without arguing about it ever in his damn life. Just hang around, get him fed and medicated, see that he’s passed out safely. You have my number?”

    “Ya, think so. I’ll text you when he’s asleep again?” Sam had unlocked the apartment door while he was imparting his wisdom, and Bucky couldn’t help taking a few steps inside before Sam had a chance to respond.

    “Bold of you to assume you’ll make it through. Keep up that self-confidence, you’ll need it! Good luck, Buck.” Sam gently swung the door shut, and Bucky took the last few strides needed to get him to Steve’s door. 

    Since knocking on the front door (repeatedly!) hadn’t been enough to get Steve up, Bucky mentally shoved aside his manners and opened the door without pause, only to gape with his hand still on the knob.  _ Fuck...I should not be seeing this… _

    Steve was curled on his side shirtless on his bed, his ribs so visible without a bit of extra fat or muscle Bucky had to stop himself from trying to count them, noting the rising and falling of them in time with the labored breathing he could hear clearly from feet away. Steve coughed in his sleep, wet and strangled, and his face pinched in distress, his frame shaking and pulling itself tighter with the struggle to breathe. The room felt stuffy, the air heavy with that smell that screamed ‘sick’ to Bucky’s lizard brain, and he wrinkled his nose while averting his eyes from the skinny frame he felt drawn towards in a way that was decidedly not conducive to taking care of someone not at one hundred percent.

    Bucky shook his head sharply, trying to knock the intrusive thoughts out of his mind, and swiveled to close the door gently behind himself. He turned and stared for a few moments at Steve, still noisily sleeping on his bed...what now? If he was resting, and resting that hard...should he let him be? Stick the soup in the fridge and leave a note on Steve’s nightstand? He disregarded that plan immediately - Sam wouldn’t have let him in so readily if he felt Steve needed the sleep. And sneaking out was also, by the same token, the wrong thing to do. So...he’d need to get Steve up. How to do it without scarring Steve was the sticking point.

    Bucky stood dithering, pulling his hair internally, tossing idea after idea around, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a klaxon blared, juggling the soup frantically to keep it from dropping and spilling. Motion from the bed pulled his eyes up, frozen in place awkwardly. Steve, his eyes still gummed shut, flailed an arm out and grabbed his phone, turning off the alarm and dropping it back on the wooden-box-cum-nightstand.

    “Uhhh-”

    “WHAT THE FUCK!” Steve shrieked over Bucky, who yelled back at the sudden scream, clutching the soup to his chest to keep it from nearly spilling,  _ again _ . The end of Steve’s yell was drowned out by a violent cough that had him spasming, hunching into himself. Bucky took a stuttering half-step forward, wanting to help but not sure what to do. After far too long Steve caught his breath, rubbing his face before looking blearily at Bucky. 

    “I, uh -” Bucky paused, waiting for Steve’s next shaky breath, “brought you soup.”

    Bleary blue eyes squinted up at him as he groped for the thick framed glasses hidden amongst the covers, pushing them up the bridge of his nose he blinked Bucky into view. “Oh.”

    “It’s matzo ball.” He added hurriedly. “Chicken broth and noodles, some carrots and the...balls. My savta would make it for me when I was sick, said it was good for whatever ailed ya, from the flu to heartache, so...I thought it might help?”

“Oh.” Pushing himself up to sitting Steve cocked his head and simply stared at Bucky awkwardly standing, poised to run at any minute. “So am I gonna get to have some?” 

“Ya, ya, it’s for you!” Bucky nearly stumbled over his own feet getting to the side of Steve’s bed, kneeling down to offer the bag. Steve sighed and shifted laboriously, the sheet that had been around his waist bunching and tangling around the sharp curves of his hip bones. “Oh, sorry.” Bucky averted his gaze.

“I’ve got underwear on, dolt.” Steve grumbled, adjusting his bedding with a yank. “Got a spoon?”

“In the bag. Dolt?” Bucky blinked, amusement curling one side of his mouth. “What are ya, eighty?”

“Shut up. Peggy says it, she’s British. Gimmie.” Bucky obligingly set the container in Steve’s lap, taking the lid off and releasing an aromatic puff of steam that Steve inhaled greedily. “Oh my god that smells good. I think. Gimmie those tissues.” He waved at a box on its side near the desk. “Please.”

“Sure thing, Steve. Need anything else?”

“My meds are all here, got a water bottle, should be fine.” Steve grumped, slurping a spoonful of broth carefully. “Thanks.”

“Water’s nearly empty, Imma go refill it.” Bucky scooped it up and was in the kitchen before Steve could reply, checking the fridge for a pitcher before shrugging and filling it from the tap. “Here ya go.” He chirped, holding it out to Steve when he walked back in, interrupting Steve’s spoon’s journey to his mouth.

“Thanks. I uh...thanks. My bark is worse than my bite, sorry.” Steve looked rumpled and frustrated, but also sheepish. “And I don’t bite unless you want me to.” He tried to wink, failing miserably, but Bucky felt his heart thud painfully at the attempt at banter when Steve was so clearly miserable. 

“Tell you what - raincheck that idea, ‘cause it’s a whole conversation I’d love to have, maybe when your feeling more up for it. For now, just drink your soup and take your meds, then get back to sleep, ok?” Bucky squatted down, putting his eye-line below Steve’s, not wanting to loom over him in bed. Steve gave the smallest smile possible and nodded before his eyebrows furrowed.

“Wait. What are you even doing here?”

“Sam let me in when you didn’t show downstairs, or answer my texts.” Bucky was going to explain more but Steve groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Is it Friday? Don’t tell me it’s Friday. Fuck, it’s Friday, isn’t it.” His eyes swam with regret when he looked back at Bucky. “I meant to text you, I swear. The days have been blurring, I thought it was Thursday. God, I’m sorry Buck.”

“You’re sick, Steve. That buys you some leeway on what would normally be a dick move. Don’t worry about it, ok?” Bucky reached over and gripped Steve shoulder, giving it a squeeze and careful shake.

“I’ll make it up to you.” Steve firmed up his jaw, looking determined. “And for the soup.”

“I wasn’t gonna not get you something once I found out you weren’t feeling well, so don’t act like I was doing you some big favor.” Bucky waved a hand negligibly. “Just focus on getting better so we can get back to our Friday-morning-coffee-dates. Sound doable?”

Still frowning, Steve nodded. “I’ll be good by next week.”

“Don’t, don’t do that.” At Steve’s look of confusion, Bucky continued. “Don’t give a due-date on getting well. That’s not something you can predict. And from what Sam hinted, you maybe push yourself a little too hard health-wise.”

This got a glare from Steve like Bucky had never seen...although the intimidation factor of it was considerably dampened given the sleep-tousled hair and general rumpled-sick vibe Steve was sporting. “Sam is a mother hen. I’m a grown-ass man and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I believe you, sure. That’s why you’re gonna take your meds, stay hydrated, and rest up until you are actually better, not stressing about getting well, that’ll just set you back.” Bucky smirked ruefully. “Worrying takes energy, I should know. Anxiety levels are high, hence coffee, hence where we are now.”

“You on your knees by my bed?” Steve’s shoulders softened their tense line. “Gotta say, the circumstances of this were very different in my mind.”

“Don’t do this to me, Steve.” Bucky groaned. “You’re sick and shirtless and adorable, I can’t think about being on my knees for you right now.”

Steve tilted his head thoughtfully. “The way you phrased that, being on your knees ‘for’ me...ya, hold that thought.” His chest heaved while he tried to stifle a cough, turning away and hacking while Bucky watched miserably, turning back with a shaky sigh. “Me coughing up a lung isn’t conducive to any sort of sexy-talk, but I have a feelin’ we’ll be getting round to that sooner or later.”

“I...wouldn’t be opposed. Normally I do one-night type of things, but...I like you, Steve-”

“The soup kinda clued me into that.” Steve interrupted, a spark of mischief in his blood-shot eyes.

“Hush, you.” Bucky hoped the heat he felt in his cheeks wasn’t indicative of a blush. “I like you, and I think we could have a good thing starting here. Ya, it’s early, but...I smile every time I see a text from you, and my roommate has started gagging in some sorta weird Pavlovian response every time my phone buzzes.” Steve smiled with him, but had to fight back a yawn. “This isn’t the time, ya. You good on the soup? I can put it away for you, so you don’t have to get up.”

“Oh, ya, I’m good. Gotta take my meds and set an alarm for the next round.” Steve handed the styrofoam container to Bucky with a quiet ‘thanks’ before picking up a bottle and shaking out a dose. “I don’t wanna kick you out when you just got here and all, but these make me really sleepy, and I can’t ask you to sit around while I snore. Not the most interesting conversationalist while I’m out cold.” Steve joked.

“I wouldn’t mind.” Bucky said quietly, almost not want Steve to hear his admission. He’d noticed Steve watching his mouth a lot, and his hearing aid wasn’t behind his ear or on the nightstand, but without knowing how well he could read lips, he didn’t think to bite back the comment until he saw Steve smile gently.

“And I like the thought of you being here when I wake up again. But with less screaming this time.” They both chuckled. “But ya...thanks for coming over Buck.” He added softly.

Bucky looked at him, all of him, taking in the full picture - and made a decision. “Ya know what, no, I ain’t leaving. Shootch over.”

“The hell...Bucky, no, my bed’s all gross and I haven’t showered.” Steve griped, completely taken aback, but moving when Bucky started making motions to climb in, kicking off his shoes.

“I don’t care. Dorm has a laundry room in the basement, it’ll be fine. And my immune system is top-notch, so that isn’t an issue. If I haven’t caught whatever you’ve got already, I’m not gonna get it.” He smirked reassuringly. “And you don’t smell bad to me. Just sick. So sleep, and get better.”

“Twist my arm, why don't cha.” Steve grumbled, shifting around to lay more comfortably. Bucky stayed above the covers, fully clothed and all, but Steve hiked up the sheet and reached for the blanket, not looking chilled but clearly wanting to make sure he was toasty. Bucky beat him to the grab, pulling the soft blue throw-blanket up to Steve’s shoulder. The two locked eyes, blearly-blue to gray-blue, and Steve ruined what could’ve been a moment by jerking his head away and sneezing violently into his pillow. Bucky flinched but smiled ruefully.

“Go to sleep, Steve.” He hesitated before leaning over and taking Steve’s glasses off, brushing a sweaty strand of blonde hair behind Steve’s ear when the glasses arm pulled it forward, then pressing the gentlest of kisses to his forehead. “Just...get better.”

    “I should be in your bed.” Steve mumbled, making Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

    “What’d’ya mean?” He stuttered, chasing the image away. “I’m on the top bunk, it’d be...a lot harder to climb in and out of while you’re sick.”

    “You fell asleep in mine.” A bony hand waved, gesturing off the side of the bed. “Drew it. ‘S only fair. I should be in yours.”

    “Oh.” Bucky parsed this apart, a tiny smile forming against his will. “Ok, sounds fair. Tell you what, you get better, and you can come over. Actually better though, not just not sounding like you’re dying. Deal?”

    “‘M not dying. Ma’d kill me if I died.” Steve rubbed his face into his pillow, muffling his words.

    “Ya, bet she would.” He cleared his throat. “She wouldn’t be the only one. Sam’s pretty worried about you, too.” 

    Steve smiled, his eyes closed and breath deepening, already drifting towards sleep. “Only Sam, huh?”

    “Shut up and sleep, punk.” Bucky knew the tone of his voice belayed the insult, and Steve’s smile only grew, but he didn’t bother to respond, so Bucky sat back with his own grin creasing his face. He squirmed his phone out of his pocket and shot off a quick text to Bruce. 

****

Bucky Barnes : Hey, you mind dropping my backpack off at Shield?

****

Bruce Banner : Sure, why?

****

Bucky Barnes : Kinda need a favor. Stuck at Steve's (not complaining) wanna study if you don’t mind running it over.

****

Bruce Banner : No problem. Is Tony gonna punch me with a robot if I go into your room?

****

Bucky Barnes : ...I’ll let him know you’re coming. But maybe knock anyway.

****

Bruce Banner : K, sounds good, on my way

****

    Checking on Steve with a glance down, he saw that he was sleeping solidly, his mouth open and the shine of drool showing just at the corner of his mouth.  _ Those meds really did knock him out _ , he mused. He checked the alarm on Steve’s phone, seeing the next one set to go off in 6 hours, and settled in to wait, pulling up social media to keep him occupied, finding himself not bothered by the idea of the empty hours ahead while Steve likely drooled on him. For once the nagging of countless hours of studying and homework went by the wayside (at least for however long it took Bruce to show up) in favor of watching the little blonde spitfire snore at his side. 

****

\-----------

****

    Steve heard his alarm in the annoying lopsided way the world came through when he didn’t have his hearing aid in and he groaned, moving to grab it, but bumping into something warm and solid. He patted at it, confused and mostly still asleep, the alarm shutting off registering dimly, and felt the bed shake in time with whatever he was fondling, his good ear interpreting the noise into laughter while his brain churned out memories slowly.

“Uh, Stevie? You awake there, pal? Cause...that’s my junk.” Bucky’s amused rumble had Steve’s eyes snapping open, and sure enough, his hand was planted on Bucky’s lap, not exactly centered but definitely covering some dick. He sucked in a quick breath and choked, pulling his hand away and blushing furiously while he struggled to breathe, sitting up and putting his head between his knees. Bucky’s hand settled on his back, rubbing supportive circles until the spasm passed.

“Ugh. Sorry. Could you pass me my glasses?” Steve wheezed, clearing his throat where it felt scratchy with thirst and the tearing coughs. When they were pressed into his knee he fumbled to grab them and shove them on before peering at Bucky, next to him on the bed, only a sliver of space separating them. Judging from the cold Steve felt along his side, they’d been pressed together while Steve slept, and moved apart only when Steve had awoken groping him. “Oh god, I’m sorry Buck.”

“It’s ok.” Bucky smirked. “You weren’t exactly aware. Feel free to when you’re up for it another time, though.” His smirk widened while he moved his hands behind his head, his biceps bulging with his pose.

Steve groaned. “You’re terrible. Now is not the time. Move your ass, I gotta piss.” Bucky obligingly stood up, offering Steve a hand that Steve raised an eyebrow at but still took, cause maybe he didn’t need it (maybe, jury’s out on the shakiness of his knees) but he wasn’t sick enough to scorn the chance to hold Bucky’s hand, even for a moment and in such a harmless setting. He let go reluctantly and made his way out and back, feeling much more awake and not as much like he was trying to think through a fog of sleep, standing in the doorway and frowning at Bucky shoving a textbook into a backpack.

“Did you have that with you when you got here?” He tried to think back but couldn’t remember Bucky having one with him on Fridays, even though he always had one when he got coffee.

“Nope. I texted my friend Bruce, he swung by and Sam brought it up.” Bucky smiled over at him. “He was happy to see you sleeping. Said you’d more than once ended up halfway off the couch with a sketchbook and a pile of tissues.”

Steve grumbled. “I don’t think I like you and Sam talking. He’s gonna tell you about everything he thinks will get me in trouble, and you’ll eat it all up like a Cheshire cat.”

    “You aren’t wrong.” Bucky conceded, still grinning like the aforementioned character. “Hungry?”

    “Not really.” Steve admitted. “Wasn’t hungry earlier either, but it’s easier on my stomach if I eat something when I take my meds. So I’ll heat up the leftover soup before knocking out again.”

    “I’ll get it.” Bucky moved to edge past Steve, but he refused to shift.

    “You don’t need to, I can get it.” Bucky looked concerned, but Steve firmed his stance and refused to budge. “I’m sick, not an invalid. It’s my lungs that don’t wanna work, not my legs. I really appreciate the help, and you sticking around while I drooled all over, but you don’t gotta wait on me hand and foot.”

    Bucky nodded. “Sam said you’d do this. Sure, you can do it, I know that. But the thing is, you don’t have to, cause I’m offering to help, if you want. If you don’t, I don’t think you’ll set yourself back just nuking the soup. So it’s up to you.” He rocked back on his heels and stuck his hands in his pockets, looking innocent and stupidly handsome, to Steve’s chagrin. Not the time, still  _ not  _ the time. 

    “Ok.” Steve couldn’t think of anything good to say to that, so he turned and went to the kitchen, pulling the container out and dumping the soup into a bowl before popping it into the microwave, crossing his arms over his torso while he waited for it to heat up. He cast his mind around for something to talk about, Bucky leaning on the counter across from him silently, looking around interestingly but not focused on any one thing. “So, you, uh...busy tonight?” Steve winced. That sounded way too much like a come-on. “Like, got a test or homework or something? Plans?”

    “Studying is a perpetual problem.” Bucky grimaced. “But since Bruce dropped off my bag, I got a good amount read, so my homework won’t take up all my night. Tony’ll probably want to go out somewhere, Clint likely has something recorded, Bruce...I’m not sure what he’s doing. Either working, mediating on his own, or babysitting Tony. We take it in turns.” He snorted. “It was supposed to Clint’s turn that night at Asgard, although he was so out of it I think he’s been fired.” The ding of the microwave pulled Steve away for a moment, busying his hands, and he settled on a stool to slurp down what he could. Matzo ball soup was a nice change from the standard chicken noodle, it was easier to eat than normal. 

    “Thanks again for the soup.” He said into the bowl. “You said someone in your family made it?”

    “No problem. Not this one, but my savta, that’s ‘grandma’ in Hebrew, she makes a killer meal. I think every culture has some version of savory broth to dose their sick with, and we’re Jewish, so...matzo ball.” He perched on the matching stool, sitting sideways to face Steve and not crowd his elbow.

    “ ‘m Irish, but this is really damn good. My ma’d make a leek soup when she could, but she was so busy, it was usually outta a can.” Steve sighed, not wanting to think about how his mom would be babying him if she was around. The memories were only barely tinged with the exasperation he knew he’d been feeling while living them, mainly colored with loss.

    “Ya…” Bucky trailed off, unsure how to respond. Steve noticed his leg bouncing where it was propped on a rung.

    “You want anything, Buck? Help yourself.” Steve gestured with his spoon around the kitchen.

    “I’m alright, thanks.” Bucky ran his hand through his hair before dropping his it on his thigh, running a nail along a distressed section.

A beat of silence passed between them, then another. Steve, while not as attentive as he normally would be, couldn’t help but notice how Bucky couldn’t seem to sit still, even in the short span of time he tried to surreptitiously watch him. 

“You ok? Need to get going?” Steve prodded.

“Nah, my homework’ll be there rubbing its gleeful mitts no matter when I get back.” Bucky smirked. “You want me to take off?”

“It’s not that, you just...seem tense? Kinda restless.” Steve grimaced. “You’ve been cooped up all day, it wouldn’t surprise me if you were feeling stifled.”

“It’s not that.” Bucky sighed, pushing his hair off his forehead again, then staring at his hands with an amused look, flicking his gaze up to meet Steve’s eyes hesitantly. “It’s sorta the opposite? Like, I know I should get outta your hair, been bumming around here all day, and you’ll just be going to bed, like actual bed not just a six-hour nap, and Sam is here if you need anything...but I don’t want to go.” He pulled his eyes away before finishing his admittance, looking unsure. “Which is dumb. I know you’ll be fine, but it  _ feels  _ like…” Bucky looked up, puffing out his cheeks and blowing out a breath slowly, searching for words. “I worry that I’ll leave and somethin’ll go wrong, and I wanna be here in case you need me...need somethin’.” 

Steve loved how Bucky’s Brooklyn came out more as he talked, uncomfortable but wanting to explain. He smiled, flattered instead of annoyed that someone wanted to hover, a reaction that surprised him, but he shoved the feeling away, not wanting to analyze it too closely.

“Think it’s an anxiety thing?” Steve suggested, looking at Bucky but not trying to force eye contact.

“Yeah, probably.” Bucky shrugged. “I’ve got a little sister, Becca, and she’s healthy as a horse, but this one time she got a bad flu, and she threatened to strangle me if I didn’t leave her alone to ‘die in peace’, cause my parents had to work, but I snuck outta school to go home and stay with her ‘till she got better.”

“That’s really sweet, Buck.”

He shrugged again. “Guess I don’t handle situations where I can’t do anything well. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, really.” They fell silent again, until Bucky sighed and stood up slowly.

“Listen, I’m gonna  take off. You sure you’ve got everything you need?”

“Yup, and if I don’t, I’ll pester Sam until he caves. He’s a big brother too, shouldn’t be too hard.” Steve teased softly, draining the last drops of the soup and moving to put the bowl in the sink - he’d take care of his dishes later, Sam wouldn’t mind. Real-estate being tight, the apartment didn’t have a dishwasher, but thankfully neither of them was anal-retentive over hand-washing when there were just a few things in the sink.

Bucky, having retrieved his backpack and slung it over a shoulder, stood glumly, shuffling a foot for a moment before smiling sadly at Steve. “So...next Friday, if you’re feeling better?”

“Ya, you bet.” Steve smiled back, walking over and stopping just out of arms reach, not sure if he should give Bucky a hug or what. Bucky leaned forward a bit, then rocked back. 

“I’ll text you. Lemme know if you need anything.” He repeated.

“Got it, now get outta here.” Steve snarked, rolling his eyes, trying to lighten the mood, hoping to banish the puppy-dog eyes Bucky had. Bucky huffed and reached out, wrapping his arms around Steve and pulling him into a tight hug. “Buck, geroff, gonna get sick.” Steve muttered, his gripping muffled by Bucky’s shirt.

“Nope, not gonna, dont care, worth it.” Bucky said with overly-fake cheer, pressing a kiss to the crown of Steve’s blonde mop. He sighed, then let go and walked to the door quickly, opening it and turning to give a sad half-smile and wave at Steve. “See ya later, punk.”

“See ya, jerk.” Steve waved back, feeling like a complete dork, standing in his kitchen and waving as Bucky closed the door with a quiet click. Steve gave his own sigh, which degenerated into a set of coughs that left him groaning and rubbing his chest, before moving forward and throwing the lock. He walked slowly towards his room, hesitating and looking guiltily at the bathroom before shrugging off the idea of brushing his teeth before bed and going into his own room to curl under his covers. Nestled in the soft warmth, he wished his nose wasn’t stuffed so he could see if his bed held any lingering scent of Bucky’s hours-long stay on them. Putting his glasses next to his phone, he set the alarm for his next round of meds and, more tired than he liked for just having eaten a small meal, settled himself to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So...what do y'all think??! Feel like a world you want to see more from?? Let me know your thoughts, if you have the time and inclination :) I suck at keeping up with comments, but I'll do my best to respond to each and every one, eventually!!
> 
> I'll be updating every few weeks - I wish I could tell you every ____ but I can't, sorry - life is too stressful to do that to myself. BUT I've got a few chapters written, and I plan on seeing this fic through to the end, so I promise to hold true to that.
> 
> Constructive criticism is appreciated as long as you're nice about it :)


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